


Lost Time

by dimeliora



Series: Lost Time [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 171,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimeliora/pseuds/dimeliora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Burton has an average life, a foul-mouthed sister, and a dream of putting his past behind him. All of that changes when Dean Winchester comes to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is *very* AU.

Sam stared in horror at the bathroom for roughly five minutes before he headed into the kitchen. He followed the smell of pizza and the sound of music to find his roommate lounging at the table with a slice in one hand and a beer in the other. She put the bottle down long enough to light a cigarette and look at him speculatively.

  
  
  
“I can clean it up.” She almost looked defiant and Sam had to suppress his urge to smile and instead solidify the look of disapproval on his face.  
  
  
  
“The sink is blue. Not a little blue. A lot.” He pointed towards her head. “And your hair is blue now too. So there’s the culprit. Why is your hair blue?”  
  
  
  
She grabbed a thick hunk of her own hair and tilted it up to glance at it before she smiled wickedly. “Why son of a bitch. It is blue. That’s new.” She downed the rest of the beer and then dropped her slice back onto the plate in front of her. There was a half-second pause as she studied Sam to see if he was amused. He was, but he could hide it well enough that her expression changed to questioning. “Is it bad? Be honest Sam.”  
  
  
  
He finally broke down and started laughing before taking a seat and his own slice of pizza. “It looks good. I just thought you’d decided on brown.”  
  
  
  
She made a noise that expressed frustration and happiness before going back to her meal. “So you slept late, your hair is a bird’s nest, and you closed your door last night. You want to explain or should I just put the pieces together myself?” She was careful not to meet his gaze when she said it.  
  
  
  
“Ope.” It was a warning. She knew better than to try to dig. At least she usually did. Sam knew that this wouldn’t always stop her, but she was considerate enough to listen when he warned her. She crossed the kitchen and pulled out another beer, offered it to him, and grabbed herself one. She opened them casually and threw the caps in the sink.  
  
  
  
“I’m just saying that if you needed comfort you could have woken me up Sammy. I wasn't fucking sleeping anyway.” She didn’t meet his eyes when she said it, and he was bizarrely touched that she’d offer. They’d known each other for a long time, and Ope was always good about keeping just the right amount of space between them. It was one of the reasons he was so comfortable with her.  
  
  
  
“I appreciate that. Wanna tell me what the drastic color change is all about?” He accepted the beer gratefully and used it to wash down his second slice. She took her relaxed position across from him and considered the stereo on the countertop.  
  
  
  
“Alan saw a picture of the brown. Said he liked it.” She sipped her beer and tilted her head as if the stereo held a secret she could discern if she only looked from the right angle. “So I changed it to blue, 'cause fuck that noise.”  
  
  
  
Sam chuckled and went back to eating. They sat together like that as he ate, and if she was watching to make sure he got enough pizza to make up for missing breakfast and lunch he didn’t comment and neither did she. When he was done she stood and left the room without breaking the comfortable silence.  
  
  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam considered his stack of textbooks and then pushed them aside and opened his laptop. He spent fifteen minutes determinedly ignoring the bookmarks tab before he gave up and opened it. The family search site was still there at the bottom of the list. He hovered the mouse over it and then snapped the laptop shut again and headed out to the living room. She was sitting on the couch sketching out a design that seemed to include runes and thick lines around a man's face. She looked up just long enough to take in his expression before dropping her pen and standing.  
  
  
  
“Where do you want to go Sam?”  
  
  
  
He bit his lip and considered the question. Back to the beginning honestly. Back to the time when he was judged wanting and left on the hospital steps. If he could do that maybe he could find out why, or dole out a serious beating and then find out why. Since that wasn’t an option he shook his head and looked away from her carefully blank expression. “The ledges.”  
  
  
  
She left for several minutes and then came back in sneakers and jeans instead of her pajama pants and bare feet. “Well let’s go dude. It’s going to be dark soon.”  
  
  
  
She had MSI in the stereo and Sam left it on and turned it up to discourage conversation. He doubted she would have tried talking even if he hadn’t. The half hour trip was full of twists and orange trees, and Sam was struck dumb again in the face of Maine's version of autumn. He’d been here years and he still couldn’t get used to how gorgeous it could be before the cold set in. In Texas autumn was only a minor relief from the constant heat and even that wasn’t a given. When the car stopped they got out without speaking and crossed the road to enter the park. Sam chose a red trail and headed straight for the Devil’s Icebox.  
  
  
  
When they finally reached it Ophelia slumped beside him in the cold and lit a cigarette. She considered the graffiti on the rocks around them as Sam watched the puffs of visible breath coming from his own mouth. Finally she spoke. “Bobby is supposed to coming for a few days. He said he needs a place to hang and he’s got some coworker of his coming.” She inhaled through her nose and then looked in Sam’s general direction. “I told him yes, but I can change my mind and tell him to fuck off. It wouldn’t be unheard of.”  
  
  
  
Sam snorted and leaned against the rock behind him. “Yeah it would be. You never tell one of your strays no.” He saw her eyebrows slant downwards briefly before she smoothed her expression out.  
  
  
  
“Sam, you are not a goddamn stray. I’ve told you that a hundred times. You contribute to bills and shit. You clean up after me. You make that lasagna.” She glanced over once and then looked back to the entranceway. “You’re my brother.” This last part came out almost hesitantly and Sam felt guilty instantly.  
  
  
  
“Yeah I’m your brother. Sorry Ope.” The nickname caused a smile that he was glad to see. He touched one of the trickles of cold water on the rock beside him as he considered her offer. He honestly liked Bobby, even if there was something off about the old guy. He was the only one of Uncle Jeff's friends who still came around. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she extinguished her cigarette, field stripped it, and dropped it into the baggie she’d brought. “Tell him to come. I’m not that fucked up.”  
  
  
  
She bit her lip and stared at the sandy ground under their feet. “Do you want me to look Sam? See if they’re alive before you get your hopes up?”  
  
  
  
Did he? He’d struggled for years, ever since his second foster family really, with the idea of finding the people who’d abandoned him. Before that he’d been so angry he was sure he never wanted to know. Now he couldn’t seem to decide between having the satisfaction of knowing and the potential catastrophe the knowledge could bring. There were any number of possibilities as to why they would have left him. None of them were very good. He finally settled on an answer that would satisfy himself and her. “If I ever decide I really want to know I’d be happy to let you vet them. You’re a better judge of people than I am.”  
  
  
  
She gave him a look and then stood and stretched. It was getting dark in the little cave, and Sam was surprised to realize that much time had passed. How lost in his thoughts had he really been? “Yeah let’s get out of here. I have another thirty or forty minutes of work on that sketch.”  
  
  
  
He stood willingly but grumbled softly. “You’ve redone it like a hundred times.”  
  
  
  
“Yes, and I’ll probably do it another ten or fifteen. I’ll keep doing it until he likes it. I’m a conformist that way.” She shot the last part over her shoulder as she led the way up the rocks towards the trail and the parking lot.  
  
  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam had cycled through last names after he turned fifteen and finally found himself free of the foster care system and all of its pitfalls. He’d considered changing his first name, but it was the only thing he had left of his original family. After a while he’d come to love and hate it. The last name he finally chose came when a young woman with crimson hair pulled him out of what should have been the end of his life and brought him to Maine. Now that young woman was sitting on the floor of his room complaining loudly about ungrateful customers and uninspired tattoos while Sam Burton sat across from her and tried to read an extremely dry history textbook. He listened with half an ear.  
  
  
  
In his fourth placement his foster mother, a rather portly woman named Sue, had forced him to undergo testing several times to see if he was mentally handicapped. Each time the tests came back negative, and each time she insisted they try it again. Eventually the school system explained to her that while Sam may be quiet he certainly wasn’t retarded. On the contrary Sam had tested brilliantly, and they’d ended up putting him a grade ahead. Which would have had him graduating, and maybe out of the foster system early, if it hadn’t been for what happened at the end of his time with Sue and her husband. It was strange, but Sam couldn’t remember his name.  
  
  
  
What he did remember was that he’d been small back then, and this didn’t end up being a good mixture with a class full of older kids who all knew each other and came from good and stable homes. The breaking point for Sam had been when a boy, whose name also escaped him, had slammed Sam’s head into the urinal one day because Sam supposedly looked at his junk. After almost a full year of bullying Sam simply snapped. He didn’t remember beating the kid. Didn’t remember snapping the kid’s nose or breaking two of his fingers on the older boy’s face, or even pissing on the kid. He just remembered coming back to himself standing over the sobbing mess beneath him with teachers rushing in to pull him away and drag him to the principal’s office. There they had called both the boy’s parents and Sue. Turns out a foster mother that’s not very interested in you in the first place doesn’t fight very hard when you’re accused of something. Certainly not as hard as the biological parents of the boy you assaulted.  
  
  
  
Sam was put into counseling, he did after all have a giant welt from where his forehead hit the porcelain, and shipped to another foster home. It was the last time he tried to make nice with the people watching him. It was the last time, for a long time at least, that Sam cared about anything.  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
“So you’re sure she’s going to be cool with us laying low at her place for weeks?” Dean peered through the rainstorm currently plaguing the West Virginia mountains and slowing their northward progress. Beside him Bobby shifted in the Impala’s driver seat and stared out the windshield.  
  
  
  
“Boy I told you before she's an old friend. She'll let us stay long as we need. In the meantime shut your fool mouth and conserve your energy." Bobby's face crinkled a bit more and he shifted his ball-cap before settling further into the seat. Dean's fingers twitched as he watched the way the rain slanted sideways. He hated other people driving his baby, but Bobby was right. He needed to stay in the passenger seat. No telling when he'd fall asleep anymore.  
  
  
  
Fucking feds. It was always the fucking feds. Local law enforcement rarely caused Dean any trouble at all, but every time the damn feds got involved it was safe house time. Dean hated laying low. It was boring for one thing, and he could almost feel people in need dying as the time ticked away. More importantly somewhere out there was his father and their goal and Dean was pretty sure they were finally closing in.  
  
  
  
It had been a month since he’d heard from the other Winchester but Dean knew his father well enough to know that the man wasn’t being idle no matter what had happened in Chicago. They’d been so damn close. Old Yellow Eyes was in their grasp and then that fucking ambush had sent them scattered on the winds, and Dean had gotten himself cursed. Dean had hooked back up with Bobby in Oklahoma City on a Lamia hunt when it became obvious whatever was happening to him was getting out of control. Now they were headed to some town in Maine to lay low at some girl’s house.  
  
  
  
Dean wasn’t entirely clear what the deal with this girl was. At first he’d thought this was some old hook-up of Bobby's, but then last night at the bar Bobby casually mentioned that she was in her twenties. At which point Dean had started pressing for details, and all Bobby would give him was that she had some experience in the curse field, and that her uncle was an old hunter friend of his. Apparently the house had been used as a hide-out before. Which didn't give him much hope.  
  
  
  
“So what’s her name again?”  
  
  
  
There was a rest stop sign and Dean saw Bobby's temptation. Saw it and understood it all too well. There may be a coffee dispenser there. “Ophelia Burton. Like the Shakespeare character. Her parents were teachers.”  
  
  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow and then Bobby made his decision. He pulled off on the ramp and headed towards the oddly shaped building. “What does she do?”  
  
  
  
“Let you figure that one out on your own. More fun that way.” He stared grimly at the building and then reached for the door handle.  
  
  
  
“Ok. So she knows what's going on?”  
  
  
  
“She knows we're hunters, and she knows you're in trouble boy. She won't ask a lot of questions past that."  
  
  
  
He parked the Impala and got out without waiting. Dean could follow or he could wait for Bobby to get back with coffee. He chose to wait. Dean used the time alone to consider just how many ways this situation was fucked. Sure, she knew what they were, but if she wasn't a hunter then there was no telling if she was really ready for what was rolling onto her doorstep. Bobby had given him explicit instructions not to hit on the girl, and Dean was almost amused at how incredibly intense his uncle was about the whole thing. She must be hot.  He had an image in his head though, and he was interested to see how close he'd be. Bobby came back and dropped a cup of road stop coffee in Dean's hand before sipping from his own and backing up the Impala.  
  
  
  
Dean frowned at the highway and raised an eyebrow. “What kind of woman doesn’t ask questions about the people staying in her house?”  
  
  
  
“Ophelia. Now shut up idjit.”  
  
  
  
  
  
\---

 

Dean is used to holing up in pits of human despair. When the heat gets too much or there's a serious injury it's not a new experience to end up in some run-down shack where he's stealing water and power just to sneak by. Living off food done on a hotplate and keeping the flashlight pointed low at night in case anyone is close enough to recognize that the abandoned house has a new occupant. Dean's used to that. What he isn't used to is getting a break when it comes to fugitive living, so when he hits the trifecta of fucked there's a certain set of expectations he has about the place Bobby is driving him to

 

 

 

The house is down a mile-long driveway in the middle of dense woods that set him on edge in the dark. At the end of the tree tunnel there's a curve and then the space opens, and there's a huge lawn in the circle of trees that contains one simple house at it's center. It's set into a hill, garage and no doubt basement at the ground level and the rest of the house situated at the top. He can see one truck parked out front of it, and the empty mouth of the garage is for them. Bobby pulls his baby into the garage and then steps out and grips the edge of the door before sliding it down. Dean follows him out. He's got enough weapons tucked into his duffel for a major firefight, but Bobby said that wouldn't be necessary. That this was a safe-house in its own right. He heads up the hill and a motion-sensor floodlight cuts on and blinds him for a second before he blinks the after-burn away and finds the steps onto the cement patio. He follows the line of it around the house and there's the kitchen. There's a big picture window that gives him a view of an island that bisects the kitchen between dining and prep areas. There's no one in the window, but he approaches the heavy door carefully and waits. Bobby turns his head towards it and speaks in a tone Dean is all too familiar with. Trouble brewing.

 

  
  
“She’s got a roommate. Guy named Sam.” Bobby glanced his way and saw his hands tighten into fists. Sam. It had to be Sam. Of course the name was common, but Dean typically avoided anyone that had it if he could help it. For a moment he had a vivid image of a tiny infant being placed in his arms, of his father shouting for him to run, and then the memories were pushed back and Dean focused on the major hoodoo carved into the wood frame around the door. Bobby wasn't kidding when he said the place was equipped for hunters to hide out. It's a supernatural fortress.  
  
  
  
“Dean? Talk to me boy. Is that gonna be a problem?” Bobby's voice wasn’t necessarily concerned so much as careful.  
  
  
  
“I dunno Bobby. Is the guy an issue?” Play it off. Play it off. Bobby didn’t have to know the exact extent of how much that name bothered Dean. He knew that Dean had once had an infant brother named Sam, and that Sam had died shortly after Dean’s mother had. He didn’t know the details.  
  
  
  
He heard the other hunter sigh in relief. “No Dean. He's fine. Tall as hell, shut off, bookish, but a real nice kid. I checked him out when she told me he was moving in.”  
  
  
  
That had Dean raising an eyebrow again. "Bobby, what is this girl to you again?”  
  
  
  
Bobby's face was troubled for all of three seconds before it turned into a reluctant grin. “A friend. Nothing more.”  
  
  
  
The lights in the heavily windowed kitchen turned on.  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
They entered and Dean met Ophelia for the first time. He'd expected glasses, maybe a bun, and a pencil skirt. Something between sexy and mousy librarian. Instead the woman standing on the other side of the door is something between Goth and Punk. Her eyebrow is pierced with a black ring of metal, her hair is a shockingly dark blue that hangs around her angular and pretty face. Her eyes are a blue so bright it's distracting, and contrast heavily with the dark liner and generous crimson lips. Her ribbed tank top is almost translucent, hugs her tight chest, and he gets an eyeful of the intricate sleeve tattoos, and the abundance of ink beneath the shirt. The capper is a set of legs that make up what little height she has tucked into chunky combat boots that look like they could crush a man if she wanted. Her smile suggests the same thing

 

 

 

"You must be Dean. Come on in. Bobby told me you'd be tall." She grins up at him in a way that invites and warns all at once before stepping back and gesturing him inside. Dean looks down and sees the salt line, and then steps in only to glance up and view the Devil's Trap chalked into the ceiling. Safe house indeed. She pulls a chair out for him and then leans against the island across the kitchen while she studies his face. "So, you're in a lot of fucking trouble right? Well this is as out of the search zone as you can get. Bobby tell you the rules?"  
  
  
  
Dean shook his head and glanced once at the older man

 

 

 

“Try to be quiet. Sammy just fell asleep and I don’t want to wake him up. Do you guys want guest rooms up here or the basement?”  
  
  
  
Bobby shouldered his duffel and eyed her for a long time. “Guest rooms. Your basement attracts too many damn spiders.”  
  
  
  
She rolled her eyes and turned away exposing an expanse of back covered in an intricate tattoo of a twisting Celtic tree that curled upwards to the base of her neck. “It’s an average number of spiders Bobby. Average for a fucking basement. Come on.” They followed her through another door and she pointed to two rooms across from each other. “Take your pick.” She pointed across the hallway. “Bathroom is there. Fresh towels in the closet next to it. If you’re anything like Bobby the laundry chute is in that closet and you’ll need to throw most of your shit in there.”  
  
  
  
Bobby pointed to the one door she had indicated they could take and sent her a questioning look. “This is your room.”  
  
  
  
She grinned casually and nodded. “I’m bunking with Sam while you’re here.” She winked once at Dean. “You guys follow me for a second ok?”

 

 

 

Dean and Bobby trailed after her into the living room and she closed the door that separated it from the hallway with the bedrooms. "Ok. Sam doesn't know about the hunter stuff ok? He just thinks I'm really superstitious, and he's ok with that. So keep your mouths shut about it, because he doesn't need the stress. No hunts while you're here 'cause I don't need the extra fucking trouble. You do your own laundry, I'm not your fucking maid. Lastly, nobody else comes in. You guys wanna go to the bar with me and hook-up with some stranger that's cool, but you do it somewhere else. Sam doesn't like new people, and I don't like Sam unhappy. We cool?"

 

 

 

Dean nodded and Bobby grunted an affirmation. Her face split into a wide grin then and she launched herself through the air and onto Bobby. The older man grabbed her up in a practiced looking move and swung her around. "Hey little girl."

 

 

 

"Hey yourself you grumpy old bastard. I missed the hell out of you." Her voice was muffled against his shirt, and then he released her and she grinned up at him

 

 

 

"Missed you too. We'll catch up tomorrow. I'm dead tired, and I need a couple hours." Ophelia nodded once, shook Dean's hand, and then led them back out of the living room.  
  
  
  
She slid gracefully through the last door in the hallway and left the two of them standing there. Bobby chose the room that wasn’t hers. Dean stepped through the door and looked around him.  
  
  
  
The bed was nice. That was his first concern and it was completely eradicated when he felt the firm mattress and the equally firm pillows. A lifetime of sleeping in cheap motel rooms and the backseat of a car has a way of making a man appreciate a good bed like nothing else. The walls were lined with bookshelves wherever there wasn’t a window, and he went around checking salt lines and drawing curtains.  
  
  
  
He finished with the curtains and studied the bookshelves. The woman was certainly organized. Everything was put into alphabetical order by author and grouped by genre as far as Dean could tell, and he was surprised to find an extensive occult section almost as obscure as Bobby's tucked in between a section containing fairytales from around the world and mythological and religious books. The dresser held framed pictures, and Dean studied them just as carefully as he had the books. There was one of her very young with jet black hair standing between what had to be her parents. Another with her leaning against Bobby as they both laughed at a tall man with salt and pepper hair.  
  
  
  
A shot of the salt and pepper haired man with his arms around her and the sun shining through her bright blonde hair. So she changed the color a lot. The next pictures were all of her and a ridiculously tall young man that must have been Sam the roommate. He had floppy brown hair that hung in his eyes in each shot, sharp cheekbones, plush lips, and warm hazel eyes. The kid looked too serious in most of them, eyes expressing too much pain for someone so young. Dean took in each shot before turning to the bed.  
  
  
  
He stripped down and dropped the clothes he’d been wearing for the last two days of running onto the floor. Dean started the process of dividing dirty from clean in his duffel bag. A deep whiff of each article gave away its status, and he wasn’t surprised to find most of it was dirty. He and Bobby weren’t very good about keeping up with laundry. He ended up having to pick a dirty pair of sweats and his last clean t-shirt to sleep in before he slipped quietly out into the hall and dropped the rest through the laundry chute.  
  
  
  
When he shut the overhead light off a universe worth of stars appeared on the ceiling and Dean studied them from the angle of the bed. He didn’t know the names of them but he recognized several real constellations in the pattern. Huh.  
  
  
  
It didn’t bother him for long. The bed was heavenly and he was exhausted.  
  
  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
Sam woke up to an armful of soft girl and the smell of Ophelia’s conditioner. He held very still. He knew she hadn’t slept until they’d arrived and knowing Bobby that was probably not too long ago. The decision for her to sleep in here had been Sam’s offering to help in her never-ending passive-aggressive war with his nightmares. It didn’t bother him much. For the first year that they lived together they’d often slept in the same bed as a consequence of Sam waking her up in the night with his nightmares. With the introduction of Bobby's friend there was little doubt Sam would be having a new set of them.  
  
  
  
More times than Sam could count he had woken screaming to find her there, at first simply speaking softly and then stroking his hair and trying to soothe him. Once he’d risen so panicked he’d slugged her before he realized who she was. She’d taken the hit and kept stroking his hair. Sam had almost moved out over the guilt attached to that one despite her assurances that she wasn’t injured or bothered. The bruise on her jaw belied the first part anyway.  
  
  
  
The sun had already risen over the trees and the generous windows let the light into Sam’s room. Eventually Sam had to give up on holding still in favor of paying attention to his bladder. He slid out of the bed as quietly as he could and snuck to the bathroom. The guest bedroom and her door were both closed, so Sam took his time with his morning ritual before heading to the kitchen to brew coffee.  
  
  
  
He toasted himself an English muffin and then took a spot at the kitchen table and watched the bird-feeder through the window as he loaded his mug with sugar and flavored creamer. It didn’t take long for Ophelia to appear in the kitchen with her blue hair disheveled and blocking most of her face. She groggily accepted the mug of black coffee he poured her and ate half his muffin before looking up.  
  
  
  
“They get here late?” He kept the tone light and his eyes on the feeder outside.  
  
  
  
“Yup.” She leaned back in her chair and pushed some of the hair out of her face before changing her mind and trying to smooth it down and pull it back into a ponytail. It ended up more of a messy bun when she was done. “The new guy is named Dean. Tall.” Sam smiled softly at her and she grimaced. “Shut up.”  
  
  
  
He rose and threw another muffin in the toaster. “Tall like me or tall like a regular person?”  
  
  
  
He caught the wadded up napkin she threw at him reflexively and then jumped when a gravelly voice piped up from the doorway. “Good reflexes. Is that coffee?”  
  
  
  
So that answered that. He wasn’t as tall as Sam, but he was minimum six feet and stocky. Sam knew from meeting Bobby that their job demanded good physical condition. His hair was short and just shy of full brown instead of dirty blonde, green eyes, and a chiseled jaw. Sam shot a glance to Ophelia before he answered. “Yeah. Help yourself.”  
  
  
  
Sam rejoined her at the table and watched as the guy poured himself a mug before drinking it straight. He seemed unsure if he should stay on that side of the counter or sit at the table until Ophelia used one leg to loudly push a chair back from the table. She gestured at it once and then went back to her own caffeine fix.  
  
  
  
They sat like that in silence for several minutes before Ophelia dug out a cigarette and lit it. She glanced once at Dean and then went back to her favorite vice. Sam knew if she’d seen disapproval when she looked she would have put it out or left the room, but Dean seemed uninterested in the smoke. Sam was familiar with the act. Lighting it suggested she didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion on her habit, but the careful look was the truth. He couldn’t help the fond smile it caused.  
  
  
  
When he looked back towards their house guest he saw that the guy had cocked one eyebrow and was watching Sam carefully. He cleared his throat and then looked out the window. “It’s nice out here. Isolated.”  
  
  
  
Sam considered the description for a moment before nodding. “Quiet. We like it that way.”  
  
  
  
Ophelia laughed once and then tapped her cigarette into the ashtray. “You want to really appreciate it? There’s a bench on the porch facing the driveway that will give you a view of all those trees lit by the sun. Sam hates it in the morning, but I’ve always thought it was nice.” Sam gave her a look and she had the decency to seem chastised before she stood and headed for the fridge. “Are you a bread guy in the morning or cereal?”  
  
  
  
Dean seemed to consider the question very carefully. “Of those options? Cereal.”  
  
  
  
Of those options? Did the guy think she was going to make them a full breakfast when she was already letting them crash at her place? Sam gripped his mug tighter and caught Ophelia’s eyes. She grinned back at him to indicate there was no harm done and then pulled out their two boxes of cereal. “Your choices are Sam’s whole grain berry fest or my sugary shit.”  
  
  
  
Dean’s eyes traveled over both boxes and settled on the sugary one. “I’ll take the cavity inducer thanks.” He shot a look to Sam and a cocky grin that Sam instantly hated.  
  
  
  
It was one thing for Bobby to take advantage. He’d known Ophelia most of her life and Sam was willing to overlook certain quirks in favor of respecting his friend’s feelings, but this guy was a total stranger. It was obvious he was trying to be charming. It wasn’t working on Sam.  
  
  
  
She dropped the bowl in front of Dean and then caught Sam’s eyes as she headed for the doorway. “I’m gonna change. You about ready to go?”  
  
  
  
Sam nodded and went back to finishing his breakfast. When she was gone Dean looked up from the cereal he was shoveling in his mouth. “Where you kids headed this early?”  
  
  
  
He talked with his mouth full. Sam frowned and looked away before he spoke. “We’re going for a run.”  
  
  
  
Dean chewed loudly before swallowing his mouthful and speaking again. “A run huh? No wonder she looks so good.”  
  
  
  
Sam bristled and stood to throw out the last few bites of muffin and pour what was left of his coffee in the sink. Ophelia came back into the kitchen and threw Sam his sneakers before she leaned over to stretch out her back. She spoke to Dean without facing him. “The only door you haven’t gone through in the living room is the entrance to the basement. Bobby knows the way to the laundry room. Make yourself at home and we’ll be back in an hour or so.” She did a lunge as Sam tied his second sneaker and then repeated the process with her other leg.  
  
  
  
“Hey.” Dean’s voice was suddenly sincere instead of cocky and Sam’s gaze traveled there along with Ophelia’s. “Thanks for having us on such short notice.”  
  
  
  
Ophelia smiled once and then waved her hand. “No big dude. We love house guests.”  
  
  
  
Sam shrugged his own response and then they headed out the kitchen door and started the warm-up jog along the driveway.  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
When they got back Ophelia was pulling in air like she was dying and flagging a bit behind him. He couldn’t help but pant out, “You’d have more…air if you quit…smoking.”  
  
  
  
She slapped him lightly on the back and collapsed onto the bench. “You’d have more…air if you weren’t so…fucking tall.” It was a weak comeback, and her face said she knew it but she was too exhausted to try to better it.  
  
  
  
Sam took a position on the boards in front of her and took her left calf in his hands before he started to rub the muscle firmly. She gave him a dark look before he switched to the next one. He pointedly ignored her displeasure as he made sure neither one was seizing or too tight. The runs had been his idea. Ophelia liked to get her exercise from climbing, and Sam was willing to join her but the whole experience was just a little too dangerous for him.  
  
  
  
He looked up from his work to see Bobby staring at the two of them speculatively. He offered Bobby a small smile and watched the older man grin back softly. “You still trying to get her healthy Sam?”  
  
  
  
She shot him an ugly look but Sam nodded slowly before releasing her calf and standing. “It’s a pointless battle.”  
  
  
  
He was almost comfortable with Bobby. Still not comfortable enough to talk in front of him the way he did with Ophelia, but he was getting there. He slapped the man on the shoulder in welcome before heading into the house to steal the first shower. He heard Ophelia’s cry of realization as the door swung shut behind him.  
  
  
  
Sam grabbed a change of clothes from his room and opened the bathroom door without thinking twice. It was an old habit, and one that got him an eyeful of their other houseguest before he realized what had happened and slammed the door shut.  
  
  
  
His impression of Dean’s build through the soft old t-shirt the other man had been wearing wasn’t wrong. From what Sam had seen through the haze of steam the guy was all muscles and definition littered with scars. Green eyes and a cocky smile met him before he slammed the door shut. Sam rubbed at his eyes as if the vision could be scoured out and then turned to go back through the living room, change of clothes still clutched in one big hand.  
  
  
  
Ophelia was just coming into the house sending some shot over her shoulder and her words died at the look on Sam’s face. Her smile was gone in an instant. “What’s wrong Sam? What happened?”  
  
  
  
Sam shook his head. “Gonna shower downstairs. Tell him I’m sorry.” He headed through the door to the basement and took the stairs two at a time.  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean pulled his sweats and shirt back on before leaving the bathroom. He wasn’t sure what he thought about this roommate. It was hard to tell from the intimacy of their interactions whether he was banging Ophelia or not. It was hard to tell anything about the guy. With her he was all soft smiles and puppy dog eyes, but with Dean he was closed off and tight. The dude was tall. He had at least four inches on Dean which meant probably 6’4. He had the potential to be big, really big, and it was obvious if Sam lifted weights he’d turn into a behemoth. Despite that, he moved like he was small, tucked himself in to reduce his size. Dean had seen it in victims often enough, but who would have victimized this guy? With those dimples…  
  
  
  
The bathroom incident though…what the fuck had that been about? It wasn’t that big of a deal. It was obvious the kid had been too distracted to consider Dean being in there, and Dean certainly hadn’t overreacted when the door had opened. Still the guy had took one look at him and then shut down completely, face becoming a brick wall before he slammed the door shut and stomped off down the hall. The reaction was overdramatic and frankly a little fucking weird. When Dean exited the bathroom he found Ophelia standing in the hallway with her arms crossed over her chest and a strange look on her face.  
  
  
  
He rubbed the towel against his hair and raised an eyebrow at her. She forced out a smile. “Sam walk in on you man?”  
  
  
  
Dean glanced towards the doorway into the living room and saw Bobby watching the whole thing with a blank expression. He moved his gaze back to Ophelia. “Yeah. He ok?”  
  
  
  
She nodded once and then took a deep breath. “He’s fine. The two of us are going to go to the store later. You allergic to anything?”  
  
  
  
Dean shook his head and then hung the towel over his arm. “Uh look did I upset him? ‘Cause he seemed upset and-“  
  
  
  
She held up a hand. “He’s fine. Don’t worry about it. When I get back we'll head out to the workshop and take a look at that curse. Sound good?” When Dean nodded she stepped past him into the bathroom and after a moment he heard the shower kick on.  
  
  
  
Bobby joined him in the hallway and gestured towards her bedroom. Dean followed. Once they were inside Bobby shut the door firmly and then glanced once at it before speaking in a low tone. “She’s kind of protective over him. I don’t know the story but he had a hard childhood. Foster system bullshit. Just don’t take it personally ok?”  
  
  
  
Dean studied Bobby for a minute before he leaned against the wall behind him. “He molested or something?”  
  
  
  
The older hunter shrugged and glanced at her dresser briefly before returning his eyes to Dean’s face. He was avoiding something, and Dean knew it, but he let it go. “Don't know Dean. She doesn’t share that stuff with me. I just know she’s like a momma bear when it comes to that boy.”  
  
  
  
Dean wasn’t sure if he should broach the subject, so he did anyway. “They sleeping together?”  
  
  
  
Bobby let out a harsh bark of laughter and then shook his head. “No. It’s not that kinda thing.”  
  
  
  
Dean pointed to the wall that stood between her room and Sam’s. “But they’re sleeping together.”  
  
  
  
Bobby's face contorted briefly in amusement before he got his expression under control. “It’s not like that.”

Dean shrugged and let it go. Because really? He didn’t give two shits what it was like. He’d be gone in a few weeks anyway, and whatever the deal was here would never be his problem.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam stared out the Jeep’s window as Ophelia sang along with the music. Her voice was husky and slightly off-key as she tried to mimic the higher register of the woman on the album. He didn’t recognize the song, but she had a more diverse library of music than he did.  
  
  
  
They blew through the Hannaford and after a while she got him talking about what they should make and what they should buy. When it was just the two of them Sam kept up with the meals, Ophelia was a shitty cook and she knew it, but with guests she was hesitant to ask him to prepare meals. She knew damn well he was willing to do it but she kept suggesting pre-packaged dinners that were within her skill level. After the third frozen dinner she flung into the cart Sam took over and started picking out fresh ingredients and arguing about amounts and work involved. She had him laughing in the span of fifteen minutes.  
  
  
  
Ophelia was a force of nature. Sam could never properly control his awe of it really. Nothing ever slowed her down and he constantly envied her ability to simply take the blows life threw and walk away from them. No matter what kind of mood Sam was in she was always able to make him smile. It was a dizzy balancing act Sam knew all too well. Public Ophelia was combat boots and chains, tattoos, curse words. Public Ophelia was a local legend for bar fights and anger. Private Ophelia was hesitant, unsure, and gentle, and very few people ever saw that side. Sam was one of those people, and he was grateful for it every day. As they loaded the back of the Jeep she shot him the real smile and slid the last bag in before shoving the cart his way. He dutifully dropped it into the return cage before sliding into the passenger seat.  
  
  
  
She flipped through radio stations this time until the opening chords of a song caught her attention. She laughed and turned to him as the wind whipped blue hair around her face. It was moments like this Sam cherished. Held them as close to him as he could because he knew that all of it could be taken away at any time. Happiness always seemed so fleeting. “Had to stop in my tracks for fear of walking on the mines I laid and if I built this fortress around your heart,” she sang along and Sam eventually joined her.  
  
  
  
When they pulled up to the house they were greeted with the sight of Bobby's friend half under the car he’d driven up in. He’d moved it to the cement in front of the garage to jack the front end up. Sam walked past him silently loaded down with groceries but Ophelia stopped and leaned down. “You supposed to be doing that?”  
  
  
  
From under the car there was a grunt and then that whiskey-rough voice offered, “Sure. Do you know what a crescent wrench is?”  
  
  
  
Sam stepped through the door and dropped the groceries on the counter before sifting through them for perishables. She came in a few minutes later with the rest of the bags and dropped them beside the ones Sam already had. He watched her light a cigarette as she put away dry goods. “Sam?”  
  
  
  
He didn’t bother turning away from the Tetris game he was playing with the fridge. “Yeah?”  
  
  
  
“Are you ok with him being here?” Her tone was purposefully light as she put paprika in the wrong cabinet.  
  
  
  
“Wrong spot Ope. One cabinet over.” He pushed the milk into place and then tested to see if the door would close fully. When he was sure it would he went over to the spice cabinet and made sure she’d put everything in the right order. He let the question die in the air.  
  
  
  
Was he ok with it? Sure he was. Sam could be ok with anything that was temporary. It wasn’t like the guy was moving in with them permanently. In a few days they’d be gone and Sam would probably never see him again. Bobby had never brought anybody over before and it was unlikely he’d do so again.  
  
  
  
She tapped ashes in the sink and then ran water over them. Her face was focused and sharp as she watched him rearranging spices. “Cool man. I've got some shit to do out in the workshop. I'll see you in a few hours?”  
  
  
  
Sam nodded and listened to her leave. A few minutes later Bobby came into the kitchen and pulled a beer out of the fridge. He popped the cap and leaned against the counter to study Sam.  
  
  
  
“How’s she doing?” He took a long pull without meeting Sam’s eyes.  
  
  
  
“Have you asked her?” Sam finished with the spices and folded the shopping bags before putting them in their place. Once the kitchen was fully ordered he grabbed his own beer and took a spot across from Bobby.  
  
  
  
“She always says the same damn thing. I trust your judgment better than hers.” He looked across the kitchen at the picture windows facing the sloped backyard. “Plus I think she’s hiding something from me.”  
  
  
  
Sam grunted at that and followed Bobby's gaze. The grass needed cutting. “Something big?”  
  
  
  
Bobby shrugged and swallowed more beer. “Something. Does it matter if it’s big? She never used to hide stuff.”  
  
  
  
There was a wealth of information here. Sam knew a good deal about their history together. When Ophelia's parents died she was left with her uncle Jeff, and Bobby had been one of his best friends. The stories she told suggested Bobby had helped raise her almost as much as Jeff did. Still, there was a point somewhere down the line when Bobby's job had him and Ophelia drifting apart.  
  
  
  
“She’s ok. You know her. They put her on a new medicine and other than not sleeping she seems fine.” Sam finished his beer and dropped it in the recyclables. He took Bobby's empty bottle and added it.  
  
  
  
Bobby looked uncomfortable for a moment. “How'd she handle Jeff changing his mind about coming back?”  
  
  
  
Sam considered this as he stared at the stove. Tonight wouldn’t be a bad night for lasagna now that he thought about it. The prep time was minimal if he did it right. “She understood.”  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Dean laid in the grass and stared up at the sky. It was just at the edge of comfortable, autumn slowly leeching away the last of the summer heat. The leaves would start to turn soon, and then winter would come in. He'd experienced winter in this part of the country once, and he wasn't eager to do it again. Still, there'd been so many seasons he had to spend in areas of the country where the wind could bite harder than any monster ever had. There weren't enough layers in the world to hold that chill out. But for now…

 

 

 

For now the sun shone bright in a sky so blue it was blinding, and the wind was still gentle. The earth beneath him was warm enough from all the sunshine that Dean started to doze, and it was in a half-awake state that Ophelia found him beside the Impala. She nudged him gently and stepped back before he reflexively struck at her. The sun behind her head set her blue hair to a shade just slightly darker than the sky and shadowed her face so that he couldn't make out the expression. "You ready to get started?" She held out a hand and he took it and let her help him up.

 

 

 

"Yeah. Let's go." He followed her after the first bout of nausea slipped away.

 

 

 

Dean let himself be led. In the sunlight the bright grass and the sloping land were even more breathtaking, and Dean let himself be taken in. They swept past a huge old weeping willow, and then came to the curve where the driveway broke from the tree line. Set back into the trees was an old two-story building, and she unlocked the door before stepping through. Dean followed her and scoped out the bottom floor. It was an open workshop with a cement floor, two tarp-covered motorcycle shapes standing in the center and a plethora of well-loved tools hanging off the cork-board covered walls. He studied them for a bit before following her whistle and taking the rickety stairs

 

 

 

The upper floor was bare wood, polished to a gleam and filled with windows. He saw the low altar at the far end, the little intricate prayer rug in front of it, and the series of bookshelves and cabinets. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling in bunches, and Dean let out his own whistle when he saw what kinds of books the shelves contained. "You a practitioner?"

 

 

 

She shot a dark grin over her shoulder and opened one cabinet to pluck out a series of jars, a white candle, a yoga mat, and a large quartz crystal. "Yep. Couldn't hunt, but I could offer this much at least." She unfurled the yoga mat and then stepped back and gestured to it. "Lay your hot ass down. Let me see it."

 

 

 

Bobby had told her more than he thought. Dean only hesitated for a second before he pulled his shirt off and took a place on the yoga mat. "Don't you people usually do this naked?"

 

 

 

"The term is _skyclad_ , and I usually wear robes. We're not doing a full ritual though, just a bit of exploratory surgery." She studied him critically and then shook her head. "Goddamn shame for you to wear a shirt."

 

 

 

"Well if your roommate didn't seem so uncomfortable with it…" He adds a flirtatious wink, a smile, and watches her eyes narrow once before her face smoothes out. She's not looking at his grin, or taking in his charm, she's looking at the black veins traveling outwards from his sternum. The ones that are getting a little longer and a little darker every day.

 

 

 

"How long ago did you get hit?" She's kneeling now, placing the candle by his head and lighting it before opening jar after jar. Her motions are mechanical and sure, and Dean keeps his eyes on her hands so he doesn't have to see the sympathy lurking in her own expression.

 

 

 

"A month. I thought I could shake it off, but it's getting worse. Slowed me down enough that I got caught in the middle of a hunt. Almost got my own ass and Bobby's ganked." He grunts once as her fingers trail cold lines over his sternum, and then shivers when she dips those same fingers in one of the jars and leaves a heavily scented trail along the same lines. "Started as that little circle and then grew from there. Bobby seems to think if it covers the heart entirely it'll be bad." Which is an understatement of what Bobby specifically said, but it's enough. Her face says she can make the connections without Dean spelling it out explicitly.

 

 

 

She coats her fingers in more oils and traces sigils into the skin of his chest, and it's strange how her fingers begin to coax sensation out of the dead spots in his skin. He hasn't been able to feel much of anything there since the curse first hit him, and now there's a slight burning coupled with a low vibration. Her mouth is moving, forming words he doesn't know in a soft chant, and she's got an ok singing voice. The heat ratchets up until it's right at the line between uncomfortable and outright painful. She keeps moving her fingers though, keeps chanting, and Dean finds that he's panting to control his reactions to the pain. When her fingers finally stop he takes deep shaky breaths and tries to get himself back under control.

 

 

 

The lines are still there, but a little less pronounced than before, and that's something. "Holy shit I think you-" He stops at the paleness of her face and the way her fingers are shaking slightly. Watches her fall onto her heels and kneel there with her head down. "You ok? Ophelia?"

 

 

 

"I hate that fucking name. Ope. It's Ope." Her hands rub at her face, and then she finally looks up and there's a twisted smile on her face. "I bet Sam would lighten up if you promise to oil up before you strut around."

 

 

 

He lets her take the out, because nobody's ever given him enough of them before. Especially not when he wanted them. "So is it fixed?"

 

 

 

Ope digs in her pockets 'til she finds the pack of cigarettes, but it's a pre-rolled joint that she removes from the pack and lights. Her face is almost placid as she takes the first deep inhale and then holds it for a long time. She offers it silently but Dean shakes his head. The smoke comes out in a directed stream and she sits fully on the floor and looks up at the ceiling. "I'm not gonna ask you for a lot of details, because if Bobby can't figure it out then I don't have a snowball's chance in Hell. Instead let's focus on what we got. The witch that hit you with it, she practiced the kind of magic that requires sacrifices. Cats and shit. Was there a sacrifice there, and was she going for it when you capped her?"

 

 

 

Dean thinks back. He remembers that what made the case last so long was that the matronly lady didn't strike him as dangerous until all other options had been exhausted. More than two false starts on different suspects had eventually led him back to her baked goods smelling house, and that's when he's found her in robes and chanting over a bowl that smelled like nine kinds of ass in an eight ass bag. He'd pulled the gun, shouted a warning, and then she'd jerked at the cage with the ritual knife and Dean had pulled the trigger. It had been a rat in that cage, and Dean remembers very clearly letting it go outside before he drove off. He'd woken the next morning with that dead spot on his chest and the lingering sense that everything was going to get so much worse.

 

 

 

"A rat?"

 

 

 

The ring in her eyebrow dances upwards and then she takes another deep hit off the joint. "Well that's not good."

 

 

 

"What? What's not good?" Dean's almost tempted to accept the offer of the joint, because the unease on her face despite the dank smell of pot suggests that this is going to be very bad. He didn't really need those indicators anyway, because he's a Winchester and it's never good.

 

 

 

"The size of the sacrifice matters. Want to wilt your neighbors crops or lower their sperm count? Spill a little blood. Pop a guy's heart? Rabbit or cat sized needed. So what you got hit with was probably an offensive spell, and it was meant to work quick but you fucked the ending up when you ganked her. Still, with a sacrifice that fucking big-"

 

 

 

"There was no sacrifice." Dean catches her eyes and tries to impress on her the importance of focusing, because obviously the girl is losing touch with the conversation. "I let the rat go. There was no sacrifice."

 

 

 

Ope shifts carefully and then shoots him a pitying look. "When you start something like that there are steps and they have to be followed. So once she got to the point of the ritual where sacrifice was needed the next blood spilled in her circle counts. Which means." She doesn't finish the sentence. Goes with an elaborate hand gesture that has Dean's blood frozen in place almost instantly.

 

 

 

"No." It comes out a growl, but Ophelia's face remains calm and sympathetic.

 

 

 

"You didn't know. Not your fucking fault man. So what we just did here was sort of like testing the waters. It's gonna take a while to get all that shit out of your system, but it's moving slow and it'll move slower now. Just gonna take some time."

 

 

 

"I didn't. I didn't fucking sacrifice her to kill myself." He's having a hard time moving past this point even if it seems Ophelia has already accepted it and moved on. Her bright blue eyes narrow once and then settle on a point beyond his shoulder.

 

 

 

"Dean. Everybody makes mistakes. You saved a lot of people and put down some crazy bitch. You're paying for it, and that sucks, but you didn't do it on purpose and it was a good thing. Suck that shit up man, because guilt isn't going to help you."

 

 

 

He takes a shaky breath and then pulls the shirt on over himself. "So you're either a dominatrix or a therapist for a living."

 

 

 

Ope's laughter sounds surprised and uncontrolled. "Actually, a bit of both."  
  
  
  
\----

 

 

 

  
  
Sam's eyes are gritty and exhausted, and he realizes he's been typing in lines of code for five hours now with no break. He's honestly surprised Ope hasn't come to shake him out of it, but she's got the houseguest, and there's probably some responsibility there Sam is missing. He's never had a houseguest of his own before. In fact, before he moved in with Ope and Jeff he never really had a home he called his own. He saves all the data to the backup drive before logging out of the remote server and shutting the primary system down. His secondary screen is flashing, and he engages the chat window before he can stop himself. The image that pops up on the screen is familiar and welcome.

 

 

 

"Hey Loki. How can I help you today?"

 

 

 

Loki's munching on something, as per usual, and he takes a second to swallow it before licking his lips and leaning towards the camera. "Well if you keep refusing to hook me up with that bondage hottie you live with I'll settle for you finishing the damn program."

 

 

 

He spares a glance for the back-up drive and then turns his attention back to Loki's familiar smiling face. They've never met in person, and it took three years for Sam to trust the guy enough to even agree to the video chats. He still hasn't given him his real name. "It's almost done. You'll have it before the end of the week. Is the payment still on track?"

 

 

 

This is nothing new, and he's never explained it to Ope, but he would if she asked. Then again, that's not exactly fair because Ope has no reason to ask if he's breaking the law in her basement. _Our basement_ she would clarify before she tore him a new one. He loves that about her. As if the mere act of insisting will change Sam's mind. More importantly, it's hard for him to imagine a scenario in which she could ever prove that to him when that muscle-bound stranger is sleeping in the next room and prancing about in tight shirts throwing cocky…

 

 

 

He abandons that train of thought before it gets any further out of hand.

 

 

 

"Yeah, 'course it is Hamlet. Hey, you checked out the new expansion for WoW yet? Pretty sweet stuff." Sam rolls his eyes and Loki leans into the camera again, wicked smile spreading his lips. "You need the social skills kiddo. Seriously. When are you finally going to invite me over?"

 

 

 

Sam fingers the back-up drive as he considers the many implications in the question. "Probably never. You'd spend the whole time trying to get into Ope's skirt." She'd refused a code name, and insisted that her real one worked just fine with his alias anyway. Sam had never been good at talking her into things. Loki's eyebrows wag and Sam points a finger. "Just like that. I'll have the program on its way by Friday. Be ready to pay."

 

 

 

He hangs up before Loki can respond, turns off the monitor, and then heads up the stairs. Hours of coding always leave his fingers and back sore, and he stretches it out as he heads into the kitchen to start dinner.

 

Sam had just slid the lasagna in the oven when Dean and Ophelia came into the kitchen. She caught his eyes briefly and then headed straight for the fridge to grab a bottled water before slumping into a chair at the table. He glanced at the oven clock and then turned back to her. Saw the size of her pupils. “Ope? Are you stoned?”  
  
  
  
“Sammy,” she took a dainty sip and then met his eyes, “nagging is unbecoming of a young gentleman.”

 

He suppressed his smile and turned back to the stove so that she couldn’t see his expression. “My name is Sam.”  
  
  
  
He heard Dean’s heavy boots clump out of the kitchen and then it was just the two of them. He joined her at the table and watched as her fingers dragged along the wood grain idly and she sipped her drink. Finally he broke the silence. “What has you stoned and pale this evening?”  
  
  
  
“Dean's staying a bit longer than a few days.” She looked towards the ceiling. “I'm concerned about your reaction to that.”  
  
  
  
Sam wanted to touch her, comfort her, and shout at her all at the same time. Instead he leaned back in his chair and let out a deep sigh. “How much longer?” She never asked anything of him. Ever. He could give her this.  
  
  
  
“Magic eight ball says ask again later.” She finished the water and threw the bottle at the recycle bin. She missed. “Have you done all your homework Sam?”  
  
  
  
He watched her pick up the bottle and drop it in the bin. “Nagging is unbecoming of a young lady.”  
  
  
  
She touched her blue hair and the ghost of a smile crossed her lips before it disappeared. “I’m no lady.”  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Sam watched in a mixture of horror and unwilling amusement as Dean inhaled the lasagna in front of him. Every now and then the green-eyed man would say something through a mouthful, but for the most part he simply shoveled the food into his mouth as if someone was going to take it from him at any moment.  
  
  
  
Ophelia kept her eyes on Sam the whole time. At one point she mouthed “Holy shit” and Sam nodded in agreement. Bobby finally had enough of it when he reached out and cuffed Dean in the back of the head. Ope barked laughter as Dean rubbed at his skull and glared at the older man. "Chew your damn food idjit."  
  
  
  
“I was chewing until I was getting hit Bobby.This is amazing Sam. Are there seconds?” Sam nodded and Dean shot towards the stove before coming back with another huge slice. He grabbed garlic bread nimbly on his way past and in the process leaned in close enough that Sam got a good whiff of the smell of him. Sam’s head involuntarily turned away and his body leaned towards Ophelia. If Dean noticed he didn’t mention it.  
  
  
  
When everyone was done Ophelia collected the plates and began the dishes without comment. Sam left for his room and pulled out his laptop. It started innocently. He was surfing the web, avoiding homework, and then he thought about Dean and Bobby and how suddenly their stay was extended. How odd Ope looked when she came back from the workshop. If asked later what had him opening the search engine he wouldn't be able to say. Fate, chance, a whim. It didn't really matter.  
  
  
  
He googled Dean Winchester and waited for results. He heard someone enter Ope’s room and then leave it before the long list of responses popped up and Sam skimmed through them. His eyes landed on the FBI link, and he clicked without hesitation.  
  
  
  
The hand-drawn portraits of Dean were very well done. That was his first reaction. His second was to keep his jaw from hanging as he read the laundry list of charges. Credit card fraud, theft, breaking and entering, assault, kidnapping, arson, grave tampering… he scanned through what seemed like too many charges for one person before his eyes landed on the big one. Murder.  
  
  
  
Murder? Fucking murder? The guy was high on the wanted list, with a huge reward attached to information leading to his capture, he was a murderer, and he was here in the same house as him. He thought of Bobby first, but then his mind’s eye flew to Dean’s easy smile. That guy a murderer? Sam didn’t trust him, and he was pretty sure he didn’t like him much, but murder?  
  
  
  
He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Ope had to know all of this, Sam didn’t doubt that for a minute, and she’d decided not to act on it. He should follow her lead. But Sam couldn’t afford…  
  
  
  
He cut that thought off and snapped the laptop shut. Ophelia wouldn’t put him in danger. If she’d judged the risk as minimal then Sam was going to leave it alone. He slipped out to the bathroom and brushed his teeth before returning to his room.  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
They’d been drinking. Bobby and Ophelia were having some sort of terse discussion about her approach to Dean's curse. Dean wasn’t sure he should be out here, but there really wasn’t anywhere else for him to go.  
  
  
  
The whole time Bobby argued his point Dean was mulling over Sam’s reaction at dinner. The lean away, the turn of the head, the tight line of his long torso. Something really weird was going on there. Sam’s reactions to Dean were overblown and troubling. It shouldn’t be though. Dean kept having to remind himself it didn’t matter what Sam’s back-story was. It didn’t matter what Sam thought of him. The only Sam that ever mattered was twenty-three years in the grave. As soon as it was safe to take off that’s what Dean planned on doing. He fingered the cell in his pocket and considered calling his dad 'til a snippet of conversation near him broke his daze.  
  
  
  
“Little girl you ain't got the sense god gave you.“  
  
  
  
“Shut the fuck up.” Her voice was tight and she took a gulp of her whiskey before putting the glass down and leaning back in the patio chair she’d dragged near the bench. Above them the sky was so full of stars it looked fake. “Bobby if you want to mother me tomorrow go ahead, but we’re having a nice time out here under a beautiful sky and I refuse to listen to bullshit right now.”  
  
  
  
“Bobby's always loved mothering people.” She jumped and Bobby sent him a glare. Hell Dean was surprised he’d said it aloud. Her face was shrouded in shadow but he saw from the angle she was looking directly at him.  
  
  
  
“What?” She ran fingers through her hair and then her voice came through the darkness tight and unsure. “Sounds right. How do you like the sky out here?”  
  
  
  
Dean opened his mouth to answer but Bobby cut in. “I want to see the new meds. Check 'em out on the internet.”  
  
  
  
Dean watched as the outline of her locked up and then her head turned creakily towards Bobby. “No. Get off my porch Bobby. You’re banned from the drinking circle.” She paused a moment and considered before adding. “Triangle. Whatever. Go to bed Debbie Downer.”  
  
  
  
Dean was surprised when Bobby did. It left just the two of them. She refilled her glass and then offered the bottle to Dean.  
  
  
  
“What are you on medication for?” He poured carefully and then placed the bottle between them on the porch before taking a drink. Her head turned back to the night sky and he didn’t blame her. It really was beautiful out here.  
  
  
  
“A very rare genetic illness called mind your own fucking business.” Her voice was casual and unconcerned when she said it. Dean barked laughter as he downed his glass.  
  
  
  
“Oh. I think I've suffered from that once or twice.” It should be awkward but somehow it wasn’t. Instead Dean felt himself relaxing into the bench. “How long you known Bobby?”  
  
  
  
“Met him when I was seven after my parents died.” She finished off her glass but didn’t pour more. “Can I ask you something?”  
  
  
  
Dean nodded, realized she probably couldn’t see it, and responded with, “Sure.”  
  
  
  
“You’re into girls only right?” Her voice was still overly casual.  
  
  
  
Dean had to pause here. What the fuck? “Why?” She wasn’t hitting on him was she?  
  
  
  
“No reason. In the summer it’s fucking gorgeous out here.” She gestured out to the tree line. “Fireflies blanket these trees from top to bottom. It looks like some crazy bastard gathered every Christmas light they could find and layered the whole forest with them.”  
  
  
  
“Sounds beautiful. Why did you ask that?”  
  
  
  
“I don’t want you hitting on Sam.” She turned then and the outline of her face said she was watching him.  
  
  
  
Hitting on Sam? He thought of the floppy hair and the hazel eyes. The closed off look and the tenseness. Was Sam gay? Maybe gay and attracted to him? That would explain a lot, but it didn’t seem right. Dean went with cocky instead of confused. “I’m not good enough for your friend?”  
  
  
  
She waved a hand. “No one is but that’s not the point. It would make him very uncomfortable and I’ve put a lot of work into him being comfortable.” He watched her pour another drink somewhat unsteadily and then down it in one long gulp. Dean was pretty sure she was already drunk. Not enough body mass to handle this much liquor.  
  
  
  
He finished his own glass and then collected the bottle. “What happened to him?” It was none of his fucking concern. Not really. It didn’t matter what Sam’s story was. And yet despite telling himself that Dean wanted to know. The kid was a mystery, and Dean lived to solve mysteries.  
  
  
  
“He was shuffled through the worst of the foster care system for fifteen years. Treated like shit, made to believe he wasn’t worth anything, and run down so low that when I met him he was letting some asshole beat him to death.” Her voice wasn’t casual anymore. It was deadly. “It’s taken me all this time to give him a sense of self-worth. I could care less if you flirt with me, but Sam couldn’t handle that sort of bullshit.”  
  
  
  
Dean thought about it for a second and then gulped straight from the bottle before passing it to her. She followed his lead. “I had a little brother named Sam.” It wasn’t what he meant to say. Honestly if he had any control over his mouth right now he’d shut the fuck up and leave the porch. Leave the whole goddamn state. He could lay low somewhere else. Anywhere else. Still his mouth kept moving. “When my mom died it was just my dad and my baby brother and I. It was my job to protect him. To watch him.”  
  
  
  
She handed Dean the bottle silently and he drank for a long time before he gave it back. He wasn’t feeling the burn anymore. “So one night I fell asleep and when I woke up there was all this smoke. It was just like…” He ran a hand over his eyes and then took a deep breath. “Before. It was like before. And dad was there out of nowhere taking me out of the burning building but I didn’t want to go. Couldn’t go without finding Sam. Dad dragged me out and then went back in, but it was too late. Ceiling collapsed. Crushed the bed Sam was on.”  
  
  
  
She stood suddenly and Dean watched her stagger. She fell back down beside him on the bench and tilted her head back to look at the stars. He watched her fumble out a cigarette and light it. “How old were you?”  
  
  
  
“Five. Sam was one.” Dean took a deep breath and tried to remember when he’d lost all control over what he was saying. Not even Bobby knew this fucking story. Dean had never told anyone of his failure to protect his baby brother. He’d pulled Sam out of the first fire and then left the kid to die in the second.  
  
  
  
She was silent for a long time and then she put a hand on his knee. He expected her to mention that he was just a kid himself and not old enough to be responsible for Sam. It was what anyone would say, and one of many reasons he never told anyone. The old guilt was rising up and choking him.  
  
  
  
She didn’t try to absolve him though, and there wasn’t a shred of pity in her voice when she spoke. “When I was seven I begged my parents for this necklace they were selling at a booth at this market. Pretty little stone that just called to me. Threw a fucking fit and they said no. Then when I was distracted my dad got it for me. Kept it in a box the whole way home. Three days later they murdered each other. Cursed object. Know what I always thought?”  
  
  
  
“What?” His voice is gruffer than normal, and Dean’s pretty sure that’s linked to the dampness he can feel on his own face.  
  
  
  
“Life is too fucking cruel to live it properly. If I’d asked for something else, or left it alone when they said no they'd still be alive. Any number of possibilities. But Fate or God or whatever decreed I was too fucking selfish and stupid to let it go. Too much of a spoiled brat. And if that’s the way it’s going to be then fuck it. Fuck all of it.” She patted Dean’s knee once and stood up unsteadily. “I’m going to bed.”  
  
  
  
She slid through the door and Dean watched the silent stars.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Sam was dreaming, knew it with the hazy logic only these situations had. In the dream he was staring at one of the many campus parking lots as Ophelia walked beside a guy he didn’t recognize. The man was tall, and vaguely reminiscent of Alan with slightly darker blonde hair but the same blue eyes. She’s not smiling at him, and the tightness in her face tells Sam this isn't comfortable for her. It’s nighttime and the two of them are alone as she approaches her car. Sam sees a look of disquiet slide briefly across her face when she sees the car parked beside hers.  
  
  
  
The guy grins and gestures at it. “What luck! We’re right beside each other.”  
  
  
  
He sees Ophelia throw a fake smile before nodding. “Yeah man, that's awesome. See you around.”  
  
  
  
She goes to step away and the guy grabs her elbow before she can. “Hey uh, Ophelia, I was wondering if maybe we could hang out sometime? Over dinner?”  
  
  
  
She’s already shutting off. She doesn’t like to be touched by strangers. He sees her gently disengage her elbow before stepping back from him. “That's nice Patrick, but I'm not interested. Thanks anyway.” She’s already digging in her purse for her keys before she finishes the sentence.  
  
  
  
Her eyes are downcast, that vague look she always gets when she can’t find something firmly on her face, and so she misses the change in the man’s look. Misses the way his eyes narrow and his lips turn down. “What? You’re too good for me?”  
  
  
  
Sam sees her hand stop in its search and he wants to scream at her. Scream for her to run or to keep looking. Swing the heavy bag and hit the guy to buy herself some time. But this is a dream, a nightmare really, and there’s no warning Ophelia. Sam knows what kind of guy this is, knew from the minute he saw him walking beside her. The potential for violence practically oozes off of him. She looks up and catches Patrick’s eyes.  
  
  
  
“Dude, it's nothing personal ok? I'm just not interested.“  
  
  
  
“It's not personal that you're not interested?” He steps towards her and she takes a half-step back to keep the distance between them.  
  
  
  
“I'm with somebody.”  
  
  
  
It’s an old lie, one Sam has played along with many times. Often he’ll snake an arm around her and kiss the top of her head to warn off unwanted suitors. That’s if he’s there. But she’s alone in this parking lot with this bastard and the only thing there to hear her is the wind and the darkened buildings. Sam starts hoping campus security will patrol by.  
  
  
  
“What that guy that lives with you? The big one with the girly haircut?” His voice is getting progressively lower as he steps towards her again and Sam watches her eyes widen in realization as she starts to dig for her keys again with one hand while holding the other up to stop him.  
  
  
  
“You’re starting to freak me out man, and I don't appreciate it. Back the fuck off.”  
  
  
  
It goes down in slow motion for Sam, every detail hellishly clear under the bright sodium-vapor lights. She’s stepping back even as he’s closing the distance easily and then his hand is grabbing the back of her neck before he pulls it back and cries out. Sam has time to see that it looks like there’s a thin burn line on his palm, has time to see the look of surprise and panic on her face, before Patrick grabs her skull this time and pulls her in. She’s in motion already, her legs trying to pull her away as she swings her fist up but the arc is bad and there’s not enough power in it. It bounces harmlessly against Patrick’s side even as he’s pulling her around and wrapping his arm across her throat. She gets out one high sound before he’s choking off her air.  
  
  
  
“I’m going to show you bitch. Show you how good I am.” Her face is losing color, her lips going grey, and then she’s slumped in his arms and her struggle ends. Sam watches Patrick drop her into his trunk, secure her wrists behind her back with handcuffs, and then slam the lid shut.  
  
  
  
He wakes up screaming her name, and has time to hear a loud crash from her room before he realizes she’s right next to him with her arms around him and her small hand stroking his hair while she makes wordless noises of soothing. The door is thrown open and Dean is standing in it wide-eyed and shocked even as Bobby stumbles up behind him.  
  
  
  
Sam has to close his eyes, his heart-rate too fast and his breathing uncontrollable, because he doesn’t want either of them to see him like this but the grip of the nightmare is too powerful to escape right away. Her hand continues to move as Dean’s sleep-graveled voice cuts across the sound of Sam’s harsh breathing. “Is he ok?”  
  
  
  
Ophelia leads his head to her shoulder, and it’s ridiculous really because she’s the size of a child compared to him, and then speaks lowly over his hair in Dean’s direction. “He’s fine. You’re fine Sam. Everything’s fine. I’m here.”  
  
  
  
Her hands are working a pattern across the muscles of his back that is both familiar and sedating under normal circumstances but Sam suddenly has a splitting headache and he pushes past her roughly to get to the bathroom before he throws up. He hears her close the door to give him privacy, and when he’s done there’s a cool damp cloth rubbed over his face and a water glass tilted to his lips.  
  
  
  
It’s an old tradition that they haven’t upheld since the first year they lived together. Sam’s nightmares haven’t been this intense since then. Her fingers push his sweat damp hair back and she steps away long enough to dig through the cabinet and find the old sleeping pills before shaking the bottle at him. He nods weakly and she taps two out into her palm and offers them with the glass of water.  
  
  
  
He feels her sit beside him, and her bed-warm body is soothing as he swallows the pills. “Was it Brady?”  
  
  
  
He shakes his head once and then closes his eyes against the harsh bathroom light. She flicks the switch off and plunges them both into the dark. “Ok. Wanna talk about it or just wait to fall asleep again?”  
  
  
  
“Asleep.” It’s barely a croak and he wonders how long he was screaming.  
  
  
  
“Ok Sam. Give me just a second.” She steps outside the door and he can hear her voice pitched low but still clear. “Can you guys go back to bed please? He’s gonna be fine and he doesn’t need to be stared at.”  
  
  
  
Bobby's voice comes back at her. “You’ve got a hell of a bruise starting on your cheek girl. He hit you?”  
  
  
  
Fuck. Sam hurt her again. It’s all he can do not to try to crawl out of the window and slink off into the woods.  
  
  
  
“It’s fine. I just need to get him back to sleep ok? Just clear out.”  
  
  
  
He hears doors shutting and then she’s back again and the light from the hallway shines strangely through her blue hair and backlights her face so that Sam can’t see her cheek. He manages to get out, “I hit you ‘gain.” His thoughts are already slurring and he’s amazed at how fast the damn pills work when he’s like this. That or more time has passed since he took them than he remembers.  
  
  
  
“I've had worse. Don't worry about it. Can you get up?” There’s worry there and he imagines it’s because if he can’t she’ll never be able to maneuver him up and across the hall. He tries to raise himself and slams back down unexpectedly on the floor, his skull colliding painfully with the shower door behind him. He hears a door open in the hall and then Dean is there.  
  
  
  
The light cuts just right to highlight one high cheekbone and those pink lips. Dean studies the scene for all of two seconds before kneeling and pulling Sam’s arm around his shoulders. The older man is hot like a furnace, so hot it’s kind of shocking, and the masculine smell of him fills Sam’s nose even as the guy is lifting him up and half-carrying him across the hall.  
  
  
  
He’s lowered into the bed softly, and then Dean is pulling the blanket over him and gesturing to Ophelia. She catches Sam’s eyes and smiles hesitantly. “I’ll be right back Sammy. Hang steady ok?”  
  
  
  
He can’t even nod. Darkness consumes him, but he doesn’t dream again.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean finds that his hands are shaking. He’s too drunk for this honestly. Her cheekbone is already swelling a bit and her fingers tighten into fists and and then go slack in a slow and steady rhythm. “Thanks for the help man. I can’t lift him and that’s not the best place for him to sleep.”

  
  
  
She can’t seem to meet Dean’s eyes and that’s a new development. She’s obviously shaken. “Is this normal?” His voice is low and thick when he finally finds it.  
  
  
  
He can’t explain even to himself the urge that overcame him when he heard Sam screaming. He’d fallen out of the bed and slammed into the nightstand before finding his feet and rushing out into the hallway. Bobby had been seconds behind him, but Dean forgot the other hunter when the door swung open and showed him Sam still flailing a bit as Ophelia tried to grip him. She looked so small in comparison to Sam, he had time to register that, and then all of his focus was on the younger man in the bed.  
  
  
  
Brown hair tangled into a nest around bright and panic-stricken hazel eyes. The pupils dilated painfully and face ashen as he stopped screaming. The look, _Christo_ , the look of him had set Dean’s teeth to grinding. He’d clenched his fists shut to hold himself back because his first reaction was to go to Sam and grab him. Which was more than a little fucking weird. When he’d heard the slam against the shower door he couldn’t take the suspense anymore and he peeked into the bathroom to see the kid curled up awkwardly in the too-small space of the bathroom looking like he was only half there.  
  
  
  
Ophelia’s desperate glance and Sam’s glazed eyes had decided him. It surprised him how cold Sam’s skin was when he pulled the kid up, and he had to lock his legs into place to hold up the taller frame even as his mind ran through possibilities. It settled on shock as he was lowering Sam into the bed and pulling the covers over him. Those hazel eyes caught his one last time, said thank you silently, and then he was gesturing for Ophelia to head into the hallway with him. Now here they stood and she looked just as shaken as Sam even though she was already trying to cover it.  He felt her hesitant touch on his shoulder and grunted when he snapped back into the present fully.  
  
  
  
“I said no. Not anymore. Thanks again but I really-“  
  
  
  
“What did you do when there was no one to help you lift him?” It’s an odd question. One Dean shouldn’t be asking because it’s none of his fucking business, but he’s asking anyway.  
  
  
  
“Maneuvered him onto blankets and sat next to him all night.” Her eyes keep darting back and forth between the closed door and Dean. “I have to get back in there Dean so-“  
  
  
  
“Do you really think you can take care of him? A glancing blow on the cheek is one thing, but what if he freaks out one night? He’s a big guy. He could seriously hurt you.” This is all getting out of control again. Lingering drunkenness and the uncomfortable feeling left behind by the look of panic on Sam’s face has loosened Dean’s tongue, and even he doesn’t like what he’s saying. He watches her eyes narrow before they focus on his face.  
  
  
  
“I couldn’t give less of a shit. Go the fuck to sleep Dean.”  
  
  
  
She’s stepping back through the door and closing it. The sound is final enough Dean takes the hint and goes to bed.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
When Sam wakes up the sun is shining through the windows and Ophelia is sitting up in the bed beside him with a book in her hands and her reading glasses low on the end of her nose. She glanced over them at him and smiled once. The bruise on her cheek wasn’t as bad as it could have been but there was swelling and it looked ugly. Sam touched just below it and her grin turned apologetic. “I hit my face on your elbow.”  
  
  
  
It’s an old joke, and it’s never been funny but it’s comforting to hear it. “I’m so sorry Ope. I’m so much fucking trouble for you.”  
  
  
  
She’s shaking her head already and grabbing his hand. The mask slips off completely for once and she buries her face in his big hand before her voice comes out muffled. He can feel her lips moving across his palm as she speaks. “Stop it. Stop. You’re my best fucking friend. You’re the best thing so stop it Sam. I hate when you say shit like that.”  
  
  
  
He lets her keep that hand and struggles to get around so he can stroke her hair and try to soothe her the way she always soothes him. “Ok. Sorry Ope. Sorry.” She lets him pet her for several minutes before she gets control again.  
  
  
  
“What was it about? You said it wasn’t Brady.” He shivers at the name and the brief flash of Brady’s angular face that crosses Sam’s mind.  
  
  
  
“It was a regular nightmare. You getting hurt and I wasn’t there to help you.” He pushes himself upright and looks out the window at the yard. The black Impala parked on the grass twinkles in the sun. “It was just out of control.”  
  
  
  
He feels her leave the bed and then she’s rubbing at her face before she drops the book on his desk and heads for the door. “I’m going to fry sausage. Real breakfast. You want to do eggs Sam?”  
  
  
  
He has to grin at that. He’s explained scrambled eggs to her a hundred times and every time she makes them she adds way too much water. “Sure. Did you get any sleep?”  
  
  
  
She pauses at the door with her hand on the knob and then responds without turning. “Enough.”  
  
  
  
He pulls on a different shirt, the one he had smells of sweat and vomit, and then goes to brush his teeth.  When he reaches the kitchen Dean is already there sitting at the table with a mug of coffee. He rubs his stubble covered jaw and gives Sam something that may pass for a grin somewhere less familiar with pleasure or joy. Hell maybe. “Morning. I made coffee.”  
  
  
  
Ophelia nods at him once before pulling sausage and eggs out of the fridge. Sam considers his options for a moment and then lowers his eyes before speaking. “Uh hey, thanks for carrying me last night man. Sorry about the noise.” He moves away before Dean can respond and doesn’t bother looking up. He hears the older man clear his throat thickly and then Sam is busy in the process of making scrambled eggs and watching Ope struggle to cut sausage patties.  
  
  
  
She growls at the tube of meat before dropping a pan on the burner and turning up the heat. “Why does this shit never cut evenly?”  
  
  
  
Sam watches her light a cigarette and loop her hair back into a ponytail before she starts putting the patties in the pan. He can’t help what comes out next. It's some weird internal need to break the tension hanging in the room.  
  
  
  
“You can freehand tribal designs flawlessly but you have difficulty boiling water. Are you sure you’re a girl?”  
  
  
  
“Sam, careful about assigning gender roles, you’re the one who cooks like a dream.”  
  
  
  
He hears the low chuckle across the room, feels the tightening in his lower belly, and ignores it to focus on her amused face.  
  
  
  
“It’s okay Ope. I won’t let you starve. Being kitchen handicapped is nothing to be ashamed of.”  
  
  
  
She flipped a patty and then changed her mind and flipped it back before pointing blindly with the spatula. “I’ll use this on you buddy. Watch it.”  
  
  
  
“I mean it’s not like you burned water once or anything. No big deal.”  
  
  
  
The laughter across the room is now rumbling over them and Ophelia glances Dean’s way once before taking a deep drag and flipping all the sausage patties. “Laugh it up pretty boy. You’re still my guest for several weeks and I’m in charge of buying groceries. I could let Sam make salads for the rest of your stay.”

 

Sam glances over once and sees the look of horror cross Dean’s face. Almost against his will Sam starts laughing even as he whisks the eggs. Bobby enters a moment later and studies the three of them before pouring himself coffee and slumping at the table. “What are you idjits laughing about so early?”  
  
  
  
Ope flipped the patties again and then judged them just on the edge of burned before taking them all out. She started making toast as she responded. “Dean seems to be thinking about changing to a healthy diet.”  
  
  
  
Dean’s green eyes narrowed in mock outrage and he turned to Bobby. “Hey you never mentioned this lady was a sadist.”  
  
  
  
Bobby nodded sagely and sipped from his mug. “’Course I didn’t. It would ruin the surprise.”  
  
  
  
Sam drops the scrambled eggs into a bowl as he casts furtive glances around the kitchen. The edge has left Ope's face, and Bobby looks pleased and relaxed. Even Dean seems happy, and it's odd but that little quirk at the edge of his lips makes something in Sam coil and relax simultaneously. If he were normal, and whole, Sam would be able to smile back at all of it. He'd be able to really join in their pleasure, and that would be something. Really just something. But Sam's never been able to be that guy. Never been able to relax and let go.

 

  
  
As if she sensed the down note in his thoughts her fingers stroked once lightly across his hand before reaching over to pull out the butter and jam. She slipped past him and dropped a plate of toast and a plate of sausage on the table. Sam brought the eggs.  
  
  
  
Dean devoured breakfast the way he had dinner, as if it was the last meal anyone would ever present him. Sam watched him from the corner of his eye as he picked at his own breakfast. Ophelia kept conversation going as she nibbled at her own slightly burnt sausage.  
  
  
  
“I’m going climbing today and I have to drop in at work tomorrow for a few hours. Do you two have something to keep yourselves busy while you’re here?”  
  
  
  
Bobby swallowed his bite of sausage and looked at her. “I got some work to do on Jeff's babies no doubt. You been taking care of them? ”  
  
  
  
She shook her head and buttered toast. Sam watched her movements and then touched her shoulder. “You shouldn’t go alone. Want me to come?”  
  
  
  
She looked up from her toast and then frowned. “You really want to go? You still have a lot of homework.”  
  
  
  
Sam nodded once. “I want to go.”  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Once they’ve left with two bags of gear and Ophelia’s cheery wave Dean turns to Bobby and studies him for a long time.  
  
  
  
Bobby's face is tight and serious as he avoids Dean’s gaze. “We should clean weapons while they’re gone. Then I’ve gotta head out to that workshop. How'd your first session go? “  
  
  
  
Dean nodded and stood before dropping his plate in the sink. "Fine. She's optimistic." He went out to the Impala and emptied the trunk, patted her side gently, and then went back in to see Bobby had already spread an old sheet across the living room floor.  
  
  
  
The motion of disassembling, cleaning, and the reassembling each piece is soothing, and the smell of gun oil reminds Dean of many nights with his father that are as close to happy memories as he has. Bobby doesn’t try for conversation and Dean doesn’t try to fill in the silence. He lets his mind run free in the meantime.  
  
  
  
He has to get in touch with dad, needs to find out what’s happening with him, but first he needs to figure out how long it’s going to take before his wanted poster isn’t so prominent. It’s terrible to consider, but he needs someone to fuck up worse than he did so that his face takes a secondary role on the television spots and websites devoted to such things. He has to be able to actually physically perform too, but that's finally under some kind of control. If Ophelia can undo his fuck-up then he can get back to what matters. What he's supposed to be doing.  
  
  
  
Finally he speaks as he carefully reattaches a rifle barrel. “There's a lot of pill bottles in that cabinet above the sink. Those hers?”  
  
  
  
He doesn’t look up from his work. Puts the rifle down and lifts his father’s old M1911 so that he can begin the process of breaking it down. This is the gun he’s always the most careful with, and the one he knows the best. He remembers his dad presenting it to him with a look of pride. Remembers firing it for the first time at twelve and almost breaking his nose with the recoil, his arms too scrawny to hold it in place and his skill level too low.  
  
  
  
“No.” Bobby’s working on his handgun and Dean glances once to see that his face is full of a silent grief. He looks away and gives Bobby his privacy with that even as he prods whatever the wound is.  
  
  
  
“Thought you mentioned her being on medication. Whose pills then? Sam?” He takes the slide off and places it gently down. Picks up the rag.  
  
  
  
“Boy, that ain't my place to say on either count. You wanna know ask, or read the labels.” Deans hears metal scrape metal and winces at the sound. Bobby's voice is hard when it comes again. “And the problem is the girl ain't taking her damn medication.”  
  
  
  
Dean could ask him the obvious. Shouldn't I know what I'm being left to? But what’s the point really? Bobby's made up his mind. It doesn’t hurt that Dean knows in the end he's been left in worse situations. Whatever she and Sam are on must not be too bad if Bobby's willing to leave him here at only a quarter his usual strength. He has to trust Bobby to have his back. After all, in the absence of dad Bobby is the closest thing Dean has to a partner.  
  
  
  
Dean stays behind when Bobby heads out to the workshop. Stays behind and studies the house. There are pictures of Ophelia with her parents, both bookish and she has her mother’s slight stature and her father’s blue eyes. There are frames full of arrowheads and souvenirs from multiple countries some of which Dean can identify and some he can’t.  
  
  
  
The pictures in her room are old news, but he finds photo albums and scrapbooks that chronicle a life he half understands. There are shots of her and the man who must be her uncle in camo in the woods, pictures of the two of them in rundown bars, but they always have the stability of a home to come back to. He finds the latest scrapbook has pictures of her and Sam, and there are several shots that must be from when she first met the kid. She has vividly bright crimson hair in these, and Sam is gaunt and bruised in some, gaunt and tired in others. It’s strange that she’d want to chronicle it until Dean sees the first shot of Sam smiling.  
  
  
  
There is the ghost of the dimples he saw this morning in this shot, as if they are digging their way out of a deep and old grave. Sam’s eyes have upturned a bit, and there’s a hint of crinkle in the corner of them as he reads a card held in one giant hand. The guy has huge hands, proportional to his large frame but still unthinkably big for someone who seems so dexterous. Dean stares at the picture too long, and finally flips the page to see Sam’s ascent to healthy and happy looking. There’s usually a shadow in every smile, but every now and then Dean will find pictures like that first one and the dimples gain strength as they see the light of day more and more.  
  
  
  
It’s almost like watching dying in reverse. Sam coming to life before Dean’s very eyes, and Ophelia wandering in the background of it hair color changing and smile always the same. He sees only one shot with that look she gives Sam, clad in a bikini and slung over Sam’s broad shoulder as he carries her to a pool, her fists in mid flail and her face shining. Sam’s grin is so broad it overtakes the lower half of his face and his dimples are deep cut and almost adorable as his eyes shine in the sunlight and the wet shirt clings to his long torso. No trace of shadows here, no sign of the quiet and shy young man he knows, only a strong and handsome guy having a great time at the pool with his best friend.  
  
  
  
He slams the scrapbook shut and slides it back onto the shelf before picking one of her occult tomes and taking a spot at the kitchen table.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam’s soaked in sweat and sore everywhere when they finally collapse back into the Jeep. Ophelia’s sunglasses hide her eyes entirely but he knows by the way she’s slumped into the seat that they’re closed and she’s almost taking a mini-nap as she rests there. He considers offering to drive and then holds it back.  
  
  
  
His knee aches where he slipped a bit as they went up and he scraped the hell out of it, possibly sprained it, ripping his jeans and scaring the hell out of himself in the process. She’s already cleaned it and bandaged it as best she can but he’s gonna need some ibuprofen when they get back. Probably an ice pack if the incipient swelling is any indication.  
  
  
  
When she starts the car Sam leans his head against the window and closes his eyes. He’s never had a problem sleeping in cars. Always kind of preferred it honestly. He drifts off to some slow and sweet music she’s playing and wakes as she pulls into a gas station for cigarettes and refueling. He offers to pump the gas but she sends one glance at his knee and then shakes her head.  
  
  
  
She parks high on the hill sloping next to the house so Sam doesn’t have to climb the stairs, and then he uses her as a rudimentary crutch to climb the low staircase onto the porch and enter through the kitchen door. Dean looks up from the book he’s studying and raises an eyebrow at the two of them. Ophelia answers for them. “Sam lost his grip for a second. It’s good.” She hovers as he lowers himself and then grabs him an icepack before leaving to dig through the medicine cabinet.  
  
  
  
Dean closes the book and puts it down before heading deeper into the kitchen and shuffling around in the cabinets. Sam can’t help but stare openly at the cover of the book he’s chosen. _Mysteriorum Libri Quinque_. Huh. He waits for Dean to come back and is even more surprised when the older man puts a glass of ice water in front of him.  
  
  
  
“You’re reading 16th century occult history?” He takes a sip and watches those green eyes weigh him heavily.  
  
  
  
“Yes. Did you think I couldn’t read?” It only sounds half-joking and Sam can’t read this guy properly. He also can’t hold Dean’s intense gaze.  
  
  
  
He looks down at the table and shifts in his seat. “Sorry. Just asking man.” He hears Dean jerk in his chair and then Ope is back with tablets and checking under the ice pack. She pulls another chair up to elevate his leg and then grabs her cell phone.  
  
  
  
“I’m going to order Chinese tonight. The usual Sammy?” He nods and then she turns away from him. “You have a preference Dean?”  
  
  
  
“Pepper steak and egg rolls. Mind if I ride along? I’m getting cabin fever out here.” His voice is lower than normal, gruffer, and Sam figures he’s really pissed the guy off.  
  
  
  
“Sure. It’ll be ready by the time we get there, and I can check in on Tommy. Let me change clothes.” Sam grabs her wrist and tries to convey that he’d rather not be left alone with Dean. She squeezes his fingers once briefly and then points to the book.  
  
  
  
“I’ve got better than that unless you’re interested in base Enochian. Dee was a little crazy really, too focused on abandoning science entirely. Follow me and I’ll point some good ones out while I grab some clothes. Hell you might even get a glimpse of my ass.”

Dean follows her without an argument.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean doesn’t ride with other people often. Other than Bobby and his dad it just hasn’t been a thing. A part of it is relinquishing the control he has otherwise, but the larger part of it is Dean doesn’t make the kind of connections usually necessary to include riding along with someone. He's too tired to worry much. The creeping numbness in his chest has started bothering him again. When she slides into the driver’s seat he sees that her hands are bruised and her fingers scraped, and he watches as she flexes the digits slowly before pulling out a book of CDs.

  
  
  
“What happened to your hands?”  
  
  
  
“You’re a classic rock man right? Nothing before the fifties or after the eighties?” She flips through pages and pages of music without looking up.  
  
  
  
“Yeah. How’d you know that?” He’s beginning to suspect she’s using more mojo on him then he knew originally. First she has him opening up to her and then she’s guessing his personality after only knowing him a day.  
  
  
  
She glances at him speculatively, sweeps her eyes up and down from the top of his head to his toes, looks out to his car, and then back again. Her voice is dry. “Lucky guess.”  
  
  
  
He smiles at that, and then she puts a burned CD in the player and the Allman Brothers “Midnight Rider” starts to play over the speaker system. She puts the volume at just high enough a shouted conversation can be held and then puts the car in reverse. “I caught some rocks wrong during the slide. No big deal. Should have had the gloves on instead of just chalk.”  
  
  
  
She drives the windy, hilly roads with ease, and her voice is sweetly off-key as she joins in on the song. Dean eventually joins in too, and the smile she gives him is honest and open. The one from the pictures. It makes him think of Sam’s smile in those pictures, and then the beaten look Sam had when he’d snapped at the kid for asking about the book. His singing stops abruptly and he leans forward to turn the music down.  
  
  
  
“You said some guy was beating him to death?” He tries to keep his tone light but he doesn’t succeed.  
  
  
  
“You have a good singing voice.” She reaches for the knob and then jerks her hand back when Dean touches it to stop her.  
  
  
  
“Is that what the nightmares are about?” Dean watches her face carefully but she gives nothing away.  
  
  
  
“Not always. Not last night. Why do you care?”  
  
  
  
Dean considers lying, misdirecting here to avoid a potential fallout, and then goes for an approximation of the truth. “I don’t know.”  
  
  
  
She nods and then takes a turn and they’re officially so far out in the country that houses are coming every few minutes. “Fair enough.”  
  
  
  
“You two worried he’ll show up again? That why you’re so protective?” There’s a twitch to her mouth and then she’s glancing his way before turning back to the road to pass a slower car.  
  
  
  
“ _I_ am not worried about him showing up again. Sam is.” Dean watches her light a cigarette and then roll the window down all the way. The Allman Brothers are still singing but Dean’s attention isn’t on beloved old songs.  
  
  
  
“Why aren’t you worried?”  
  
  
  
She peers through smoke and then pulls the car over on the side of the road and turns completely to face him. “What will knowing these answers get you Dean? You don’t plan on coming back. You’ve barely known Sam a day. What can you possibly gain from learning his history? Don’t say you don’t know. That’s not good enough.”  
  
  
  
Dean chews on all the possible answers he can give her. He settles on one that isn’t too open. “I saw the pictures of him after you met him. I want to know why someone would make a person look like that. I want to understand. Consider me a chronicler of suffering that way.”  
  
  
  
She tilts her head and narrows her eyes. Taps the cigarette and then takes a deep breath. “Sam was involved with him. It was a bad relationship, but he was the first person to tell Sam he was worth anything. They did shit together. Bad shit. Eventually Sam was done with him. He told Brady that, and Sam…they argued and Brady started to beat him. They were in the middle of nowhere and I guess the bastard thought no one would see.”  
  
  
  
She took another drag and Dean saw the trembling in her fingers. Her face was still controlled and he was honestly fairly impressed.  
  
  
  
“I was on a trip at the time. Climbing in North Texas and I’d just reached the top of this pretty hard cliff face when I hear a howl. Human. You know what traditional climbing is compared to other types?”  
  
  
  
Dean shakes his head and leans back in the chair his hands flexing open and closed on his thighs.  
  
  
  
“You put the anchors in yourself and they have to be removable. Reducing your fucking footprint. I followed the line of the cliff, kept looking down, finally I saw them. This kid my age on the ground and this other guy above him and he’s screaming in pain but he’s not defending himself. Just taking it. My ascent point is a couple yards away and anchorless, and I’m not familiar enough with the area to know shortcuts, but I know where the back side is and I can’t walk it. There isn’t time. So I rappelled. Not the safest option and certainly not the smartest but this bastard is going to town and I’m worried the guy on the ground isn’t going to live long.”  
  
  
  
She stubbed out the cigarette, looked at the pack longingly, and then locked her fingers together. Her mouth was twitching again. “I landed on the asshole, twisted my fucking ankle something awful on his shoulder, and then cut the rope and went nuts.” She reached into the backseat and dug through a gear bag before pulling out a knife and opening it. The blade has open spaces for hexagonal nuts, a serrated portion, and one smooth part. It’s tiny, no more than three or four inches, but it’s wickedly sharp and it sits easily in her small hand.  
  
  
  
“I cut his femoral artery.” When Dean glanced up she was watching his face, her eyes so intense it was hard to keep the gaze for a second. “Sam was too far gone to notice. I watched him try to run. I watched him drop. It doesn’t take long with the femoral artery. When I knew he wasn’t getting back up I roused Sam enough to offer him my hand and his life. He came with me. Later I told him I just used the knife to scare the bastard off. Sam believed me.”  
  
  
  
She fell silent and waited. Dean weighed the information for a long moment. “Bobby doesn’t know this story?”  
  
  
  
She shook her head and put the car into drive, signaled, and then pulled out on the empty road and sped up. “Bobby doesn’t need to know this story.”  
  
  
  
They took three more turns and suddenly they were in a small town cruising along at a low speed. Dean leaned back in his seat and watched the old buildings roll by. “You feel guilty about killing him?”  
  
  
  
“Not in the slightest. You saw those pictures, but you didn’t see Sam lying there all…” Her voice cuts off abruptly and she turns into a parking space and gets out of the car without a word. Dean follows her into the Chinese restaurant and watches as the girl behind the counter shoots her a wary look. He helps her carry one of the bags and they put them on the floor in the backseat.  
  
  
  
Dean knows he needs to say something, but he’s not sure what. He’s glad she did it really, brutally and viciously glad she did it because the thought of Sam lying on the ground covered in blood and waiting for death makes something inside him clench tight and scream. He rubs at his hair for several moments as the car starts back up and she backs out carefully.  
  
  
  
“I frightened him by snapping at him. I felt guilty.” He doesn’t look at her, but he can feel her glance his way once and then turn back to the road.  
  
  
  
“Don’t snap at him then. Problem solved.”  
  
  
  
Dean looked at the building for a long time before he slid out of the passenger seat of the jeep. It was impossible to guess from the outside exactly what it was, but the name _Confession_ didn't leave a lot of possibilities. Ope strode confidently forward and pushed the door open, glanced his way once, and then stepped inside. It wasn't exactly what he had been expecting. If he had to guess he would have gone with sex shop or goth store, but this was…well Dean could deal. He followed Ophelia into the building and looked around.

 

 

 

A counter stretched out across the front, and behind it there were three enclosed booths. He'd been in tattoo parlors before, and he knew what waited behind those walls. The counter was littered with black binders, and two attractive blondes were flipping through them and cooing over pictures as a huge biker looking guy watched them with a bored expression. The look changed when he caught sight of Ope, and then he lowered the volume on the heavy metal coming from the wall-mounted speakers and rounded the counter to slap palms with her.

 

 

 

"Hey boss. What the hell are you doing here?"

 

 

 

The two girls looked up then, and one nudged the other and whispered something

 

 

 

"Checking to make sure you didn't burn the place down before I got back. Anything good?" She went over to the computer and tapped the keys for a minute before squinting at the screen. "Oh fuck Tommy. I thought we swore we wouldn't book this bitch anymore."

 

 

 

Tommy looked oddly mollified, and he shrugged once and shuffled all his mass in an oddly endearing way. "Well she pays well Ope, and I just thought-"

 

 

 

"She pays well so we won't ban her ass. Which I've done if I remember correctly. Tommy the bitch called your work pedantic."

 

 

 

Somehow this was the moment Tommy seemed to really notice Dean. "Who's your friend?"

 

 

 

One blonde giggled and Ophelia shot her a look before turning her attention back to Tommy. "Not relevant dude. 'Fess up. You trying to bag this bitch or you hurting for cash?" The blonde giggled again derisively and Ope's eyes cut over to her and settled this time. "Hey, Tramp Stamp, pick a design or fuck off. This isn't a goddamn art gallery. We take serious ink people here." The blonde lowered her head and her friend looked away and blushed

 

 

 

Dean was both impressed and surprised. Ophelia pulled Tommy back into a booth, and chatted for a bit before returning and grabbing Dean's elbow. "Let's go."

 

 

 

The ride back was silent, and the woman smoked heavily and tapped out the beat of the Rolling Stones album as they crossed a bridge and approached her secluded driveway. Dean broke the silence, although he wasn't sure he wanted to.

 

 

 

"You always talk to customers that way?"

 

 

 

The sunglasses were dark enough Dean couldn't see what her eyes did, but her lips pulled into a line. "When they're just coming in to stare? Yeah. I had to put up with that shit when I first opened the shop. Girls barely legal that wanted stars and butterflies, and then walked off feeling like badasses. Overly muscled jerks that cried through their tribal designs. Every time I smiled and nodded and listened to them talk about their pain resistance while I pretended they weren't talking shit the minute they left. I promised myself once I had the customer base I would be more picky. I've got that base now." Ophelia's lips twisted in a tight grin. "Tommy's a big old sweetheart that tries really hard to look like he doesn't care. Bitches like that come in and demand more art than they pay for before going back to brag about how he stared at their tits or some shit. I hate that shit. Like Tommy cares about jailbait." She waved a hand angrily and then pulled into the driveway.

 

 

 

Dean took a deep breath and then leaned back. "Sounds reasonable."

 

Ophelia looked his way, and then laughed once. "Sorry. Soapbox."

  
  


He nodded once and then the curve came and there was the house.  
  
  
  
“So this was your uncle's house?” Her fingers tighten briefly on the steering wheel.  
  
  
  
“Yep. It’s been in the family a long time.” She gives a strangled corpse of a smile and then turns into the driveway. “Can I ask you a favor before we go in?”  
  
  
  
Dean nods once and watches the trees roll by. She’s silent until they pull up and she parks the car.  
  
  
  
“Be nice to Sam. Make friends. If you have any more questions about his past become close enough with him that you can ask him.” Her smile is soft and sad. “I can’t keep leaking this shit to you. They’re Sam’s stories and he should be giving them or hiding them. Ok?”  
  
  
  
Dean nods once and then looks up at the house. “He seems like a good kid.”  
  
  
  
Her smile is finally honest and full. “He’s the best.”  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Bobby returns shortly after they leave and goes into the basement to dig out an old pair of crutches. He offers them to Sam silently and then takes a beer and a position at the table. His face is stern, and his eyes are dark and heavy. Sam wants to comfort him but he knows Bobby well enough to know the man doesn’t want help with this. He wants answers.  
  
  
  
“How long has she been off the medication?”  
  
  
  
“Since a month after they prescribed it. She said it wasn't working and she didn't care.” Sam runs his fingers over the familiar grain of the wood. It's an old fight of theirs and Sam hasn't started it up in a long time. Too tired or busy with his studying and the need not to have her angry at him. The compulsive need to avoid angering her.  
  
  
  
Bobby nods stiffly and looks out the window at nothing, probably seeing something far in the past. “You’ve been really good for her Sam. Thanks.” Sam knows it’s hard for Bobby to admit this, to open up this way. His line of work doesn't allow for much in the way of emotional conversation. Ope's warned him more than once about that.  
  
  
  
“You could tell her you know. That you're worried. It might help if it was more than just me.” He tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice because it doesn’t do to judge people.  
  
  
  
“Wouldn't do any good son. She's never listened to me either. She's determined to prove something, and she ain't gonna stop until she does.”  
  
  
  
Sam leans forward and almost touches Bobby's arm to get his attention. Instead he taps the wood briskly and waits for the older man to turn his way and focus on the present. “I agree. But she can't keep going this way. The climbing especially.” He lets his eyes tell the rest because there’s nothing else that can be said aloud. Bobby grunts once and then nods. He gets it.  
  
  
  
When they finally return Sam has finished what he had left of the reading assignment and gone back to studying for his Cisco certification. He’s going to blow it out of the water, he knows it, but it can’t hurt to hedge his bets.  
  
  
  
The two of them walk next to each other easily, and she’s laughing about something when she comes in but Sam can see the tension around her eyes and the line in Dean’s shoulders. They’ve had some heart-to-heart, not Ophelia’s specialty, and neither of them is sitting easily after it.  
  
  
  
They don’t talk about it, and she doles out Chinese food while Sam breaks her chopsticks and his. Bobby suggests they move this into the living room, and he turns on the World Series. Ope boos half-heartedly at both teams until Dean asks her who she wanted to see in the Series. When she says the Redsox he laughs until he chokes a bit, and Sam reaches over without thinking and slaps his back. The smile Dean gives him is almost blinding, and Sam pulls his hand back and focuses on the screen.  
  
  
  
It won’t do to be attracted to Dean, and Sam knows it. There are a world of reasons it’s a bad idea. Sam shouldn’t even be worried about it because he hasn’t been interested in anyone sexually in almost four years. He had begun to think he was asexual honestly and it’s off-putting to be proven wrong. He tries to control his sight line, to keep his eyes from wandering to the green-eyed man and studying the angles of his face, or his full lips, or the coiled strength in that muscled body. Fuck even _not_ looking is starting to bother him.  
  
  
  
He knows almost nothing about Dean other than that he’s Bobby's friend and a wanted criminal. Only one of those is a recommendation. Scratch that, he knows the guy is capable of violence. Knows it from the hardened hands and the steely look Dean has gotten once or twice. If there’s anything that can put a damper on Sam’s sudden lust for a stranger it’s the knowledge that if the guy wanted he could break Sam, and he knows Dean can break him. Sam may have the height advantage, he may be pretty built himself, but he’s not a trained fighter and Dean has that look about him.  
  
  
  
The game ends with Bobby cheering for the Phillies’ victory and Ope muttering about the lesser of two evils. Which somehow becomes Bobby and Ophelia arguing, which quickly escalates to Bobby and Ophelia yelling. Dean keeps glancing helplessly at him, and trying to insert himself into the argument, presumably to stop it, but when the two of them get going like this the fight isn’t even really about a thing. At least nothing concrete that they can really argue about. The root of it is a mixture of Bobby's worry, Ope's carelessness, and the gap between them without Jeff there. Finally Sam takes pity on Dean and gestures for the guy to follow him. They loop through the kitchen and Dean silently grabs two beers before stepping in line behind Sam’s thumping crutches.  
  
  
  
They end up on the porch, Sam in the chair and Dean on the bench, with the stars twinkling brightly above them and a sliver of moon, waxing Sam thinks, hanging in the sky. Sam accepts the beer gratefully and leans back in the chair. Dean’s voice is almost hesitant. “They do that a lot?”  
  
  
  
“Oh yeah. That’s how they’ve spent all the time I've known them never talking about anything consequential. Anytime it seems like they’re getting close enough Ope picks the fight and Bobby runs right at it like Charlie Brown at a football.”  
  
  
  
Dean’s laugh is husky and warm in the darkness and Sam shivers once and gets himself under control. “You usually just wander off?”  
  
  
  
“Yeah. There’s no stopping them. They’ll yell themselves out in a half hour or so and pretend it never happened. They’re mutually dysfunctional that way.” Sam should be asking questions. Being social is not his strong point, and small talk seems useless in most situations, but Sam knows it’s expected here so he tries for it anyway. “So where are you from originally?”  
  
  
  
Dean sounds honestly surprised when he answers. “Kansas. A little town called Lawrence. You?”  
  
  
  
 _Hell_. “Texas. Abilene.” Sam takes a long pull from his beer and squints at the constellations Ope’s dad taught him about. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to suggest I thought you were stupid.”  
  
  
  
He hears Dean inhale harshly and then he hazards a glance the other man’s way and sees through the dim light that Dean’s jaw is clenched and he’s staring at the tree line. “I’m sorry Sam. I shouldn’t have snapped. Education is a sore point for me.”  
  
  
  
That’s interesting. “Why’s that? Reading a book that’s half in Latin suggests you’re pretty well-educated.”  
  
  
  
“I have a G.E.D. My dad and I moved around a lot and I never finished high school. At the time I thought it was pointless really, but now I’m beginning to see how it might have helped.”  
  
  
  
Sam fights with his interest and loses the battle. “How did you learn Latin?”  
  
  
  
Dean’s jaw works in the dim light and Sam can catch glints off of those eyes as they move along the trees restlessly. Like Dean’s looking for something, scanning for incoming danger even as he’s trying to relax. “My dad insisted on it. Well-rounded individual thing. What do you study at the college?”  
  
  
  
“Computer Science. I’m working to get my certifications so I can apply for IT jobs, but it’s taking longer than it should.” Sam didn’t mean to say that, but there’s something about sitting here in the dark, knowing Dean can barely see him that makes his tongue loose.  
  
  
  
“Why’s that?” He can feel Dean’s gaze shift to him and it makes him squirm a bit in his chair before he gets control of himself.  
  
  
  
“I started a little late, and I had to take a semester off due to health issues.” Health issues. It’s a joke really. Not even Ophelia knows the extent of how bad off he was that first year, or how bad it hit him in the second semester. She was there for every step of the process but she didn’t have the context to understand the situation. Sam is determined that she never will.  
  
  
  
Dean grunts and let’s that one go. Instead he leans back in the bench and gestures upwards. “It’s freaking gorgeous here. You must love it.”  
  
  
  
Sam turns his eyes back to the stars. “Yeah. I do. Uncle Jeff used to take me out here and tell me all the constellations and their histories. I probably remember about half of them, but I still like to look.” He’s relaxing even against his better judgment. “How long have you and Bobby been friends?”  
  
  
  
There’s an odd chuckle this time, almost bitter, and then Dean’s beer bottle clinks on the porch and Sam hears the bench shift under his solid bulk. “Practically my whole life. He and my dad are friends, and he helped raise me after my mom died.”  
  
  
  
That’s…well that’s either interesting or tragic and Sam can’t decide. After all, a kid could do much worse than Bobby as a surrogate father. He's seen Bobby with Ope enough to know the guy is gruff, but gentle. Still… He shouldn’t push but he does. “So you lost your mom when you were really young?”  
  
  
  
Dean shifts again and Sam’s beginning to see the extent of the older man’s restlessness. It’s not surprising, with a body like that he’s probably used to action and sitting still talking like this doesn’t seem to be his thing. At least not fully. Or it could just be the conversational topic. “Yeah, mom and… Yeah. When I was four.” That voice is low and thick as if it doesn’t know if it should be grief-stricken or angry. “My mother and my little brother. Six months apart.”  
  
  
  
Sam takes in a sharp breath and then turns and looks at Dean. He’s surprised to see those glinting eyes are aimed directly at him. “I’m sorry. That must have been horrible. Was it an accident or…or something else?”  
  
  
  
Dean’s eyes move in the light, his face shadowed and stiff, and then he rubbed his hair briskly. “My mother was murdered. My brother was…it was an accident. I couldn’t save him.” There’s a long silent pause and then Dean adds in a tone that suggests he doesn’t mean to say it, “His name was Sam.”  
  
  
  
Sam regulates his breathing and then looks back out at the stars above them. It gets chilly here in October and Sam’s over shirt isn’t thick enough to combat it. Dean notices his shaking and stands abruptly. “Let’s get inside Sam. They should be done by now right?” There’s a forced cheerfulness that’s awful to hear, and Sam struggles with the beer bottle and the crutches until Dean’s warm hand brushes his and takes the bottle so he can focus on the padded grips.  
  
  
  
“Thanks. Hey Dean?”  
  
  
  
Dean pauses ahead of him and sends it back over his shoulder. “Yeah Sam?”  
  
  
  
“I bet your brother would be pretty pissed off if he knew you were beating yourself up about something that happened when you were too young to do anything about it.”  
  
  
  
This time the chuckle is a little more honest. “If he was anything like me? Yeah he probably would be.”

 

 

 

\---

 

 

 

Dean watches her carefully as she lies still on the yoga mat, robe open to expose the pajama pants and tank top underneath. She's taking long slow drags off of the joint and holding the smoke in for long periods of time before she releases. She's pale again, shaky, but she seems totally at ease. The lines didn't change visibly this time, but there was the same sensation as last time, and Dean is counting that a blessing. It may not be a pleasant sensation, but it's something. He watches the way she rubs at her face before he finds his voice. "So why don't you hunt?"

 

 

 

He watches heavy blue eyes blink twice before they focus on him. "I've got a genetic condition."

 

 

 

There was a pause, and when she didn't offer more he swallowed and leaned harder against the boards. The lingering scents of the oil and the herbs burning on the low altar mixed in with smoke from her joint have him getting a strange contact high. Spacey and tranced out. "Serious?"

 

 

 

Something dark flickers over her face. "Serious enough. Doesn't matter. Out of my fucking hands." He thinks of Bobby's concern about her taking her medication and lets it go

 

 

 

"You ever killed anything though? Other than that asshole?" He's not even sure why his mouth is moving. Drugs. Has to be the contact high.

 

 

 

"Did a salt and burn once with Uncle Jeff when he was desperate for back-up. Sat in on a possession." Her hand moves in a lazy gesture before she takes another drag. The joint is almost gone. "Helped out with a nest in Vermont. Fucking vampires in the cold man. All wrong. You ever killed a person?"

 

 

 

Dean closes his eyes and rubs at the back of his neck. "Yeah. I uh-yeah."

 

 

 

Ope's staring at him when he finally opens his eyes, and the joint is out but she's not quite there yet.

 

 

 

"Carry me back into the house ok? I don't think my fucking legs are working."  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
They’re lying in bed beside each other in silence as the night drags past. Sam’s honestly a little afraid of falling asleep and rejoining the nightmare from the night before, and Ophelia is boneless. She smells of pot and herbs, and Sam wonders what exactly she's getting up to out there with Dean. He finally breaks the silence and pitches his voice low and soft. “What are you thinking about?”  
  
  
  
"Mac and cheese." He elbows her once gently and she huffs a laugh. “How much easier life would be if we fell in love with each other.” Her voice is just as low, but it has an undertone of weariness he hates to hear.  
  
  
  
“Do you want that?” Honestly Sam’s thought about it himself more than once. She knows more of his story than he’s willing to tell anyone, she’s always there for him, and she’s certainly attractive. If Sam wasn’t so damned damaged he’d probably be interested in her in that way. He could see them growing old together, hell they’re basically doing it now.  
  
  
  
“No.” She rolls over and puts her face against his bicep. Takes a deep breath and he feels the warm exhale when she lets it out. “It would ruin everything, but it would be so much fucking easier.”  
  
  
  
Sam nods once and then puts his arm around her, drags her head onto his chest and lets it rest there. “You’re too sleep-deprived and high to make sense. I’d be a terrible boyfriend. Too much baggage.” He’s always amazed at how small she feels at times like this. He can remember, hazily and through a red glaze, the way she looked when she held her hand out. The sound of her voice rolling like thunder through the empty wilderness. _Come with me or stay here and die. Your choice stranger._ She seemed so big then, so colossal, and it wasn’t until his eyes opened again and he could see her clearly without the blood marring his vision that he really got an idea of the size of her.  
  
  
  
“You’re an idiot Sam Burton. A complete idiot. One day some nice man or woman is going to sweep you off your feet and when you get the time to remember me I hope you remember me telling you that.”  There’s a hesitation here and then she plows forward. “Are you interested in Dean?”  
  
  
  
Is he? _Yes_. Should he be? _Fuck no_. “I barely know him.”  
  
  
  
She shrugs awkwardly in the circle of his arm. “That hardly matters in these situations, or so I am told by love stories.”  
  
  
  
“Go to sleep Ope.” He strokes her hair once and then goes back to idly rubbing her back. He can feel her losing the battle to stay awake. “Love stories are for suckers. You’ve said that a million times.”  
  
  
  
“I’d like to be wrong for once.”  
  
  
  
She falls asleep a few minutes later and Sam continues to hold her and stare at the ceiling of his room silently. His knee aches, and he imagines his arm will fall asleep if he leaves it in this position, but her warmth is soothing and he doesn’t want to let go of it just yet.  
  
  
  
Tyson-no Brady- used to say that Sam was corpse cold at night. It wasn’t an affectionate statement but it was certainly true. Sam’s always cold it seems, no matter how many layers he puts on. Has been since he first started…but that’s a dangerous line of thought and he clamps it off before it can go farther.  
  
  
  
He thinks of Dean for a minute, with those green eyes and that strong jaw, and then he thinks of all the ways Dean could hurt him. Casually, simply, hurt him without ever thinking twice. He doubts Dean is in to guys anyway. Sam’s preferences have shifted with the winds his whole life, anyone who would show him a little affection is his type generally, and he knows it’s unhealthy but there’s no use lying to himself about it. He spent too long lying to himself. Sleep grabs him with little warning, and if he dreams he doesn’t remember it.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
When Sam wakes up Ophelia is already gone. She’s probably running without him, and she knows she's not supposed to. He has class in two hours. He rolls awkwardly out of bed and takes three limping steps before grabbing the crutches. His knee is still swollen, but it’s not as bad as yesterday and he’s grateful for that. He limps his way to the bathroom, brushes his teeth, and then heads into the kitchen. There’s no one there, and Sam enjoys the peaceful quiet as he pours himself a cup of coffee and makes his own bowl of cereal. It’s difficult to get it all to the table, and he has to put the crutches down and limp with the bowl, but once it’s all there he elevates his leg and reads the paper she’s left him on the table.  
  
  
  
He has maybe a half hour of peace before the door opens and the two of them come in sweating and panting. Her face is flushed and she’s laughing breathlessly as she plunks down in the seat across from him and sips her water. Dean takes the chair next to Sam’s leg and collapses into it. His face is full of color, eyes sparkling, lips a darker pink than normal and Sam thinks, _fuck_ , and looks away quickly.  
  
  
  
“How the…fuck do you…do that and smoke?”  
  
  
  
Ope slides him her water bottle and he gulps noisily and then slides it back. “Practice.” Sam can feel her questioning gaze and then she moves it away and gets up to get herself cereal. Usually she showers before eating but she’s willing to wait for Sam to see she's moving easily without assistance. Sam can smell her and Dean from here, an odd combination of scents to be sure. Hers is familiar and comforting, but Dean’s is overly masculine, almost overwhelming, and Sam really shouldn’t like the smell of sweat.  
  
  
  
He swallows the last bite of cereal and before he can get up to take his bowl Dean is sweeping it off the table and carrying it away. Sam hears the fridge open and then close, hears the microwave run, and then Dean is back eating leftover Chinese out of the carton and watching Sam carefully. “How’s the knee kiddo?”  
  
  
  
It’s bizarre that it should anger Sam, because Loki calls him that all the time and it never bothers him. But it does because he's not that much younger than Dean. At least he doesn’t think he is. “I’m not a kid.”  
  
  
  
Dean raises an eyebrow and waves his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry. Just a friendly term. I take it back. How’s the knee _Sam_?”  
  
  
  
“It’s fine.” The grumble is petulant, and Sam hates it coming out of his mouth. He’s an adult now damn it. He pushes himself up and tries to limp out, leaving the crutches against the counter, but his traitorous knee gives a bit and Dean is there in a flash holding him up. He feels the muscles and sweat and pulls away too hard staggering into the wall before he catches himself. He limps away before he can lose more of his waning dignity.  
  
  
  
Bobby crosses his path as he heads to his room, and the brown eyes are amused and bright. “You kids make a hell of a lot of noise in the morning.”  
  
  
  
Sam waves a hand, can’t contribute to the conversation at the moment, and then closes his door and takes several deep breaths. He honestly half expects Ophelia to come in any second wanting to know what’s happened, but she’s probably guessed it and is giving him his space. He hears the bathroom door open and close again and sits on his bed to give his knee a break and center himself. Dean will be gone in a few weeks. Sam just has to survive until then.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
She hums along with Otep as the car speeds along the roads that will take them to campus. Her fingers are drumming and she keeps her eyes on the road instead of glancing his way. It’s her way of offering him space if he wants it. He does.  
  
  
  
She doesn’t offer to help him to class but she does open his door and hold out the crutches silently. He takes them with a grunt of thanks and then speeds off to class.  
  
  
  
Sam’s an excellent student, knows it and revels in it, because this is a domain he has full control over. He doesn’t offer answers, but early in each semester he makes it known that he has them and the professors often seek him out when the class has become unresponsive. He can’t focus today though, and so he takes a spot in the back and puts a wall up so that he can just cruise through all of it. He’ll be graduating this semester and all that’s left is a few gen ed courses he’s been avoiding since the beginning.  
  
  
  
It reminds him too much of the old days, of listening to the History Channel on Brady’s couch with half an ear as he kept himself busy with other things. And if that’s not unpleasant enough he looks out the window and spots Ophelia’s blue hair in the sunshine bobbing beside a man who looks vaguely familiar as she no doubt heads for her car and _Confession_. Sam tries to follow where he’s seen the guy before, but the professor is asking him a question and his attention gets fragmented as he tries to answer it. He’ll ask her later. There’s always time


	5. Chapter 5

After the fifth time he listens to the message Dean gives up on reaching his dad and finds Bobby. There are storm clouds rolling across the sky but Dean sits in the bench in defiance of the coming rain and stares out at the tree line he’s becoming all too familiar with as he watches Bobby flip pages in an old book

“Bobby. I can’t get dad.”

  
There’s a low growl and then Bobby closes the book entirely. “Well I’m real sorry ‘bout that boy but I don’t know what you want me to do 'bout it. Your dad ain’t the greatest at communicatin’.”  
  
  
“Has he talked to you?” Dean listens to the wind pick up and rustle the trees. It's so isolated out here it's almost creepy sometimes.  
  
  
"Not word one. That man is impossible when he wants to be. You know that." Dean's not sure he believes it.

 

Bobby would tell him if there was trouble so he lets it go. Prickly old bastard never appreciated prying anyway. “She's making progress with the curse."  
  
  
Bobby chuckles lowly. “Well take this time idjit and just relax. Going stir crazy ain't the worst thing you ever experienced. She ain't finished with you yet.”  
  
  
“Yeah I know.” He rubs his mouth for a second and looks back at the tree line. “Hey, he’d have told me if he was in trouble right?”  
  
  
There’s a long silence and then Bobby responds gruffly. “Probably not boy. He would have told me though and he didn’t.”  
  
  
"You staying the whole time I'm here Bobby?"

He watches the older hunter adjust his ball-cap and rub his fingers along the embossed title of the book. "Nope. Gotta head back soon. You'll be alright here. They're good people."  
  
  
Which may be the problem.  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
By the end of the day Sam’s drained and ready to go home. He’s had three papers assigned that are due by the end of next week, one of his professors chewed him out for not paying attention, and he’s finding that any time his mind wanders it wanders to Dean. He’s annoyed, exhausted, and prickly beyond all belief. Ophelia picks up on it and drives them thirty minutes out of their way to his favorite deli to get special cheese. It’s Kryptonite for his anger and she knows it. He holds the package of Baby Swiss and looks at her half-resentfully. “I get to be unhappy sometimes.”  
  
  
She glances his way once and then turns the car sharply to get back on track towards the house. “Sure you do. Just not in my car and not with a lap full of expensive cheese.” Her grin is tired and hopeful, she wants him to let go of it but knows he won’t.  
  
  
“I have to work tomorrow.” It’s a statement not a complaint, his small acquiescence to her request. “What do you want to do about dinner?”  
  
  
“I’ll have Bobby grill. It’s been a while. Want me to bring some by for you?” She’s fiddling with the radio, switching stations instead of putting in a CD, and he suddenly feels bad for not simply pretending everything is fine. Sometimes he can be a petulant child, and she’s told him more than once that it’s ok because she knows he wasn’t one when he should have been. It doesn’t excuse the fact that he knows how ragged she is right now with her duties at the shop, house guests, and taking care of him.  
  
  
“That’d be great Ope, but I’ll just take something. Want me to make potato soup tonight?” This is his thanks for the cheese and his apology. Her eyebrows raise and he can practically see her mouth watering. She hesitates though.  
  
  
“Can your knee handle that much standing?”  
  
  
“I’ll enlist help. You get some work done on that design and I’ll have soup ready for you by the time you burn out.” He gives her an honest smile, and the sight of it brightens her own face.  
  
  
“Thanks Sammy. That’d be great.”  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
She disappears into the basement and Sam makes his slow progress across the porch. Dean is in the living room with Bobby, and when Sam peeks his head in he sees that Bobby has fallen asleep watching some old Western. Dean glances his way and raises one eyebrow. “Can I help you?”  
  
  
Sam nods once and then gestures so that Dean will join him in the kitchen. “How much experience do you have with cooking?”  
  
  
Dean looks at Sam for a long moment, looks around the kitchen as if seeking help or reassurance, and then meets Sam’s eyes again. “Not much. Chef Boyardee and I are good friends, but he does most of the work.”  
  
  
Sam’s laughter is surprised out of him, and then stolen away when Dean smiles in response. He shakes himself and crutches over to the fridge to pull out the ingredients he needs. He starts the pan with the bacon and then uses a series of hand signals to get Dean set up in front of the cutting board. When he hands Dean the knife he’s fascinated with how easily the older man manipulates it. He has to shake that off too, and any thoughts of what _else_ Dean’s hand would grip so dexterously, and focus on the task at hand.  
  
  
He puts the garlic and onions in front of Dean, pauses, and then demonstrates how to properly crack garlic and what to cut off before mincing it. Dean winces at the word mincing and Sam laughs a little too hard. He steps away and washes the potatoes, half-peeling each one before throwing them into the microwave in a bowl of water so they can bake. When he turns around again the bacon is ready, and he glances once to see Dean wiping at watering eyes as he tackles the onion.  
  
Sam has just long enough to say, “No-“ before Dean’s fingers come in contact with his eye and the shouting begins.  
  
“Oh son of a bitch-what-fuck-fuck-“  
  
Sam grabs Dean’s hands, he has luckily dropped the knife, and leads him over to the sink. He has time to think that Dean’s fingers are rough, and then he’s gripping Dean’s neck with one big hand and trying to keep his voice soothing. “Lower your head and tilt it. Calm down I’ve got you. Is it both eyes or just one?”  
  
  
“The right one. Fuck this hurts.” Sam tilts Dean’s head a different way and then turns on the cold water, cupping his hand under the flow before directing the liquid into Dean’s face.  
  
  
“Open your eye Dean we have to flush the juice out. That’s it. I’ve got you. It’s fine.” He’s talking but his hand on the back of Dean’s neck is beginning to shake. It’s more physical contact with a man than he’s had in years and Sam has to work hard to keep it up. He can see the redness of Dean’s green eye as he pours the water into it. After a few splashes the tension goes out of Dean and Sam releases him and takes a half-step, half-lurch, backwards to put space in between them.  
  
  
He holds a dish towel out to Dean and watches the other man dry his face. When the towel is gone Dean meets Sam’s eyes for a moment, and Sam finds himself frozen in place. He opens his mouth at the same time as Dean, they close in unison, open again, and then the spell is broken when Bobby's voice rolls across the room. “You boys ok in here?” He sounds amused and concerned at the same time.  
  
Dean turns away abruptly and meets Bobby's gaze. “You’re the new kitchen helper. I got attacked by a damn onion.”  
  
Sam watches Dean hand off the knife and disappear into the living room before he meets familiar crinkled brown eyes.  
  
“You ok Sam?” Sam nods once. Bobby glances back and then shakes his head. “I’ve seen the kid complain less about taking a bullet. How finely are we dicing these?”  
  
“Very. Ope likes them tiny.” Bobby's already nodding and chopping.  
  
“She always hated the texture.” Sam thinks of the texture of Dean’s fingers, the rough pads and callused palms, and then grunts in affirmation and turns back to his work.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam lets the potato soup cook for longer than is absolutely necessary so that Ophelia can get extra sketch time. When he’s finished one short essay and stirred the stuff more than he cares to think about he sends Bobby to collect the other two. Ophelia’s eyes are red and strained as she sets the table. It’s the only visible indication she gives of how exhausted she is.  
  
  
“How’s it going with the design?” Sam salts and peppers his soup when she puts it down in front of him. She drops the bread loaf in the middle of the table next to the butter dish and considers the arrangement before taking a spot next to Sam. The house guests sit down and the sound of Dean slurping his soup fills the silence.  
  
  
“Probably another two or three hours, and then that asshole has to approve it.” She pours pepper into the soup and then begins eating with just as much gusto as Dean. The tired smile she gives him is more than satisfying.  
  
  
Bobby swallows his own mouthful and looks up from his bowl. “How many hours you got in it already?”  
  
  
“Ten this time. A total of thirty.” Across the table Dean chokes and Bobby stares with a gaping mouth.  
  
  
“That’s one tattoo? Damn.” Dean’s shaking his head and he shoots Sam a look, but Sam looks away. After earlier he’s not interested in meeting Dean’s eyes.

Ope shrugs once and stirs her soup. "Well, he's paying really fucking well for it."  
  
The conversation falls flat after that, and Ophelia’s too tired to try to force it. Instead she continues to inhale her soup and then gets up and cracks her back. “Bobby you’re in charge of dishes tonight. I’ve got to check on Tommy again.”  
  
A thread of unease pushes through Sam’s mind and then is dropped when Dean stands and grabs Bobby's bowl. “I’ll do dishes sweetheart. Bobby helped cook.” The word sweetheart, sliding off his tongue and coupled with a warm and sensual smile, has Sam pushing up from his chair and grabbing at the crutches to leave the room before he has to think about it. Ophelia follows him silently and closes the door behind them.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
“You need to head out. I’ve got writing to do.” He’s fiddling with his books, trying to hide his face, and Ophelia steps into his space and stops his hands.  
  
“He’s not-Sam it’s not-“  
  
“It’s ok. He’s into girls. So am I sometimes.” It’s a weak joke, and the smile he couples with it is even worse. He can feel that. Ope makes a noise and then squeezes his hands tightly.  
  
“I’ll send them both away right the fuck now Sam. This is too much for you. I shouldn’t have said yes.” She starts to turn but Sam grabs her hands first.  
  
It’s not Dean’s fault Sam is developing a crush. Not Bobby's either. Plus Ophelia loves having Bobby around and sending him away from one of his rare visits would crush her. Sam holds her gaze. “I’m going to be fine. This is a good sign. Maybe I’m finally ready to start looking around. Let’s treat it as a lesson and let it go. In the meantime you just go do your stuff. I’ll be good.” He tucks blue hair behind her ear and kisses her temple to show he’s really fine.  
  
The smile she gives him is careful instead of real. “Ok Sam. But if it really starts hurting you I want to know ok?”  
  
“I promise Ophelia. Now go to work. Be careful.” She nods once and then looks at his stack of books as she’s turning away.  
  
“Hey Sam, when I get back if you want we’ll go stargazing. Sound good?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
She disappears through the door and Sam collapses into the desk chair and stares at the mountain of work in front of him, not willing to start and not willing to walk away from it.  
  
He has a lot of time in between stilted paragraphs to consider what he’s going to do. It’s been a long time since Sam has had to subdue his own feelings and he’s honestly out of practice. He’d like to simply bury his growing crush and move on with his life, but there’s something about Dean that is unavoidable. Every time he tries to direct his mind elsewhere he gets a flash of laughter or rough skin, green eyes or pink lips, and damn if he hasn’t let himself wander into it again. He gives up on the paper and heads out into the living room to find Bobby and Dean on the couch watching more Westerns.  
  
Bobby's always been a comedy guy so he has to assume it’s Dean that likes the black and white cowboy dramas. He takes the couch with Bobby and leans back without a word. After several minutes of silence Dean hesitantly asks, “You want a beer Sam?”  
  
Sam nods, keeps it to simple gestures, and then takes the beer when Dean brings it back. They drink together, just three guys hanging out, and for the most part they simply quietly drink and watch. Whenever Sam is directly addressed by either of them he keeps his responses to one-word answers or grunts. Ope comes back during the second movie and takes the spot in between him and Bobby. She takes his beer and drinks the whole thing in one long gulp before licking her lips and slapping his thigh. He follows her silently out on the porch and they lay side by side on the cold surface and stare up at the night sky.  
  
After a while she ventures to speak. “Want me to fish around and see if he’s interested back?”  
  
“Yeah. Pass him a note during math class with check boxes while you’re at it. That’ll impress him.” He takes the light punch to his shoulder with a laugh.  
  
“Last time I try to help you with your love life. Ass.” But she’s laughing too and after a while the silence becomes comfortable. Bobby joins them at some point, and he takes the bench behind them and stares up at the sky.  
  
“You kids wanna tell me what’s going on around here? It’s getting kind of tense.” Sam feels her fingers stroke his for half a second, a silent suggestion that he decide what he really wants. Sam knows if he tells Bobby they need to go elsewhere Bobby will go without an argument and Ophelia will never hold it against him.  
  
He takes a deep breath and then squeezes her cold digits before pushing himself upright. “Ophelia and I are talking about getting married. What do you think?”  
  
Bobby's indrawn breath is harsh and Ope laughs until she’s in tears. Bobby ends up having to help Sam upright.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam wakes the next day to a knee that will hold weight for short periods of time. The swelling has gone down considerably and he skips the crutches and sticks to limping. Ophelia doesn’t run that morning, instead choosing to work on her design from whatever ridiculous time she woke up until Sam calls her and tells her to come to breakfast. He makes packaged blueberry muffins, and she and Dean eat them like they’re homemade. At some point green eyes meet his and through a mouthful of muffin Dean says, “Damn Sam. Is there anything you can’t make?”  
  
“It came from a box.” Sam refills his coffee and tries to keep his tone light. “No big deal.” He’s absurdly proud of how hungrily Dean eats his cooking, but he saw the way the man downed Chinese food and knows he shouldn’t be.  
  
Dean inhales his third muffin and then peers at Sam silently. Eventually Sam can’t avoid the look anymore, and he raises his own eyes to meet Dean’s. He lets the silence stretch until Dean breaks it. “Can you make pie?” There’s a hopeful note, something strangely childlike about Dean’s look, and Sam swallows hard. Suddenly his mouth is too dry to speak.  
  
“Yeah. I can make pie. Is that a request?”  
  
Dean nods before smiling brightly and shorting out all of Sam’s conversational brain cells.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
“Hey Dean?” He hears the shout from two rooms over and comes into the kitchen to find Ophelia tenderizing steak and seasoning it. Bobby is beside her wrapping potatoes in tin foil. They've just finished their fourth session and he feels wiped and slow as he stares at her.  
  
“Yeah, what’s up?” He was looking through her scrapbooks again, and he works to keep his face blank and guilt free. She never told him after that first admission he couldn’t, but she never said he could either.  
  
“There’s a grill covered in a tarp in the garage. Could you roll it out on the concrete spot in front and fire it up? Standard propane job.”  
  
“Sure.” He headed down the stairs into the basement and then exited into the garage to find two tarp covered shapes he’d passed by once or twice before without a second glance. He goes to the grill shaped one and pulls the tarp off before dragging it out into the fading sunlight. It lights easily, and he waits for the temperature to get to the right spot before scraping the bars and then closing the lid again.  
  
When he steps back into the garage the second shape catches his eye. He lifts the tarp to find an old Honda touring cycle. It’s obviously well-loved and yet it looks like it hasn’t been touched in some time. Not like the ones out in the workshop. His fingers brush along the smooth blue metal and the slightly dim chrome before a throat clearing behind him makes him spin around on one heel. Bobby is peering at Dean and the cycle. He walks past Dean to drop the potatoes onto the grill and then comes back over and studies the bike with him.  
  
“It was her dad’s. Her mom hated it. Called it a ‘donorcycle’.” Dean’s not as familiar with motorcycles as he is with cars but it doesn’t take much to know this is a classic. He watches Bobby cover it slowly again, and then jump guiltily when Ophelia’s voice sounds out behind them. They’re apparently both losing their touch.  
  
“It’s a CB450. A ’68 K1 to be exact. You gear heads want to take this plate of meat? It’s getting heavy.” Dean silently accepts the large plate of steak and hamburgers from her, and she sits in a lawn chair and lights a cigarette. “Mom hated it, but she loved to see him work on it. Uncle Jeff got it in the estate, but it doesn't get much use.”  
  
Bobby nodded once thoughtfully and then opened the grill to add the steaks. “You ride anymore?”  
  
“Yeah. I’ll take it out eventually, but in the meantime it needs to stay covered. Sam's pretty tense about me getting on any of the cycles.” She chuckled and tapped her ashes. “His legs are too long to ride bitch properly.”  
  
Dean thought of Sam’s legs for a brief instant and then took a seat beside her and watched Bobby grill. “So where is Sam tonight?”  
  
“He has work duty on the help desk. It’s a part time gig but it pays ok and he enjoys it. Good experience for resumes too.” She took a long drag and then looked over at Dean. “You want to pick him up? I’ll let you take the Jeep if you think your car draws too much attention.”  
  
Dean studies her face, carefully composed to look calm and careless, and then nods once. “Yeah. That’d be fine.” What the fuck is she up to? With every passing day Sam seems to want more and more distance in between himself and Dean. Dean’s not sure he’s opposed to the plan.  
  
The moment in the kitchen is throwing him off his game. The cool hand cupping the back of his skull so easily, and Sam’s rumbling voice in his ear were bad enough, but there was this look on Sam’s face when Dean finally got the water out of his eyes that dropped fire in Dean’s stomach like nothing had in a long time. It was about time Dean went out and cleaned the pipes if that was happening from some dude flushing onion juice out of his eyes.  
  
She nodded once and extinguished her cigarette. “I’ll let you guys talk about engines or whatever, I’m gonna get some more work done. Just knock when it’s ready.” She’s off like a shot and Bobby is left sharing Dean’s puzzled gaze.  
  
After a while Dean gives up on trying to figure her out and turns back to Sam. She said he was involved with the son of bitch that hurt him, and so Dean knows that he was at least attracted to men then. So maybe the problem is that Sam is attracted to him. After a relationship that bad it would make sense that Sam would be nervous around a man like Dean.  
  
It wouldn’t be the first time a dude had a crush on Dean, and while he’s flattered it’s not something he’s going to go after. He’s never been terribly picky when it comes to sex, but his one rule is that it stays sex. Dean Winchester doesn’t do relationships, and he never hooked up with anyone who wanted one. Despite all of that he’s comfortable enough in his masculinity to admit Sam’s a good-looking guy. It’s not his looks though that have Dean so off-kilter. Something about Sam puts him on edge, makes Dean feel crazy, and it started _before_ he heard Sam’s tragic story.  
  
Bobby breaks his train of thought by asking him to go get a beer from the fridge. Dean wanders past the basement door and hears the strains of something vaguely familiar beyond the closed door before he proceeds up to the kitchen. He comes back with the beer and holds it out to Bobby.  
  
The other hunter opens the bottle casually and throws the cap into the garbage can. “She’s trying to hook you two up.”  
  
It’s so abrupt and sudden Dean almost drops his own beer. “What? Why would-no Bobby she’s-she threatened me.”  
  
He raised an eyebrow. “Told you not to flirt with him right? That he couldn’t do the casual hook-up?”  
  
Dean nodded once and took a long gulp of beer. Bobby's grin was full of tenderness.  
  
“She’s warmed up to you since then. Takes her a little while.” His voice is casual and disinterested, as if it really didn’t matter one way or another. Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole thing now.  
  
“I’m not.” Bobby raised an eyebrow at that and tilted his beer.  
  
“Great. I'm heading out tomorrow. Ophelia’s gonna get me a rental. She’s got that client coming in so it’ll be just the two of you. Try to avoid trouble ok Dean?”  
  
Dean shot him an ugly look and wandered away.  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Sam’s knee was aching beyond belief and he was beginning to wonder why he’d turned down Ophelia’s offer to wrap it. Why he’d left the damn crutches. His limp had become more pronounced as the day continued. It was finally time for him to get off the desk and the new girl wanted to walk him out. Sam wasn’t up for the argument so he just let her walk beside him, carrying his backpack and touching him more than he liked.  
  
He saw the Jeep waiting at the curb and waved before he realized it wasn’t Ophelia sitting behind the driver’s wheel. It was Dean. Ruby stroked his forearm once to get his attention and he took in the small smirk she was wearing. “Where’s your girlfriend?”  
  
He was fairly certain he’d never told that lie to Ruby, but he couldn’t remember. “She must be working. That’s a buddy of ours. I’ll see you Friday ok?” He took the backpack from her hands and nimbly avoided her attempt at a hug as he limped towards the car. The door popped partially open and he pulled it the rest of the way before leveraging himself into the seat.  
  
“You should wrap that.” Dean didn’t look his way, waited for the door to close and then put the Jeep into drive. Sam leaned back in the seat and watched as Dean took his time exiting campus. It was probably a little confusing, and Sam certainly could have made it easier, but Dean didn’t ask for help and he didn’t offer it.  
  
“Ope will. I’m no good at it.” He watched Dean’s jaw work for several seconds before the older man sent a brief glance his way.  
  
“Sam can we discuss something?” Dean’s voice was raspy and hesitant. It put Sam on edge immediately.  
  
“Uh, sure. What’s up?” Sam paid close attention to the dashboard. Had it been that dusty this morning?  
  
“Ophelia is apparently trying to hook us up. I’m not-“  
  
Sam clenched his fists on his thighs. “I’m not either. I’ll talk to her.”  
  
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean startle and then settle back down. “Look kid-“  
  
“How old do you think I am?” It came out tight and hard through Sam’s clenched teeth. He was fine with rejection, shit he hadn’t even asked a question to have rejected, but he was tired of the condescension.  
  
“I-uh- twenty-one?” Sam could tell this wasn’t going the way Dean had expected it to. What did the cocky bastard think? Sam was some lovesick puppy following Dean around hoping for a bone? Maybe Sam was supposed to cry and then Dean would be sweet and everything would be good after Poor Sam got over his heartbreak? _Fuck that_.  
  
“I’m twenty-four. A fully grown adult man. I’m not some wide-eyed girl or a twink looking for some burly guy. I think you’re attractive, but I’ve found other people attractive so that doesn’t make you special. Even if I did think you were more than a hot piece of ass I wouldn’t go after you because to be honest? I don’t know much about you and I don’t fucking trust you.” There was a brief flash here of Dean lifting him out of the bathroom and he squashed it ruthlessly. “Stop treating me like a kid and stop acting like telling me you’re not interested in me will break me. You’re not equipped to break me.”  
  
There’s silence for a full second, and Sam is breathing hard trying to get his temper under control. Dean whistles once lowly and then Sam finally looks his way. The older man is gripping the wheel with a look of forced levity on his face. “Ok. Holding that in long?”  
  
“Holding what in?” Dean’s reaction is only making Sam even more irrationally angry. When Dean doesn’t respond he risks another glance and sees that Dean is staring at the mirror and his expression has gone tight and cautious. “Dean. Dean what’s wrong?” All the anger leaves him so suddenly he’s a little dizzy.  
  
“We’re being followed. I need you to tell me two turns I can take that will lead us away from the house. They need to be close together and soon.” Dean’s voice is all business but his hands are gripping the wheel like they want to strangle it.  
  
“Followed?” Sam pictures Brady and all the blood leaves his head. Eight years. He had eight years, almost nine now, of peace and joy. Now they’ve all come to an end. He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Dean’s warm fingers are touching his hand.  
  
He looks up to see the green eyes torn between understanding, sympathy, and annoyance. “Sam I need you to focus and help me get us out of this. Tell me the route man, I don’t know the area like you do.”  
  
Yeah, ok. He can do this. He can. “Three streets down, make a left and then take the second left after that. You’re going to come around a curve under a bridge and cross railroad tracks. Do you want to leave civilization or stay in it?”  
  
Dean’s hand strays to his jacket pocket for half a second and then goes back to wheel. “Out. Isolated as you can get me.”  
  
“Ok. Stay straight after the second turn and then go through the light.”  
  
Dean waits until the last second before the left turn and swerves through it without signaling. Sam’s watching the headlights behind them now and he sees that they turn with them squealing tires and hitting the curb to keep up. Dean takes the next left turn after signaling right and the Jeep loses traction for half a second before it grips the road again. Sam has a death grip on the armrest, and he’s fighting to breathe normally.  
  
Dean can’t handle Brady. It was a piece of luck that Ophelia could, and Sam knows that Dean’s headed into this blind. He’s never even told Ope the extent of his sins with Brady, never told her how fucking evil the guy was, how evil _Sam_ is. Dean speeds up and runs the red light at the last second. The car behind them stops at it and Dean picks up speed. They get deep into the country moments later and Sam leads Dean through a twisting series of directions until they’re sure the car isn’t behind them anymore.  
  
All of Sam’s earlier defiance is gone. He’s shaking too hard to focus on anything Dean is trying to say to him, and when they finally pull into the driveway Sam leaves his backpack in the car and lurches his way up the porch steps and into the house. He hears Dean slam through the door behind him, and he stumbles past Bobby's questioning face practically screaming for Ophelia. If Brady’s back she’ll be the first one he kills to get to Sam. He’s got revenge to take out on Sam’s tiny friend and Sam can’t let that-  
  
His thought process slams to a halt when two strong arms grab him from behind to stop him from falling down the basement stairs. He can hear Ophelia shouting his name from downstairs, but that’s secondary to the roaring sound of Dean’s heartbeat as Dean holds him tightly against his chest. Finally Dean’s voice breaks through the haze of panic.  
  
“I’ve got you Sam. You’re safe now. Breathe ok? Breathe big guy I got you. No one’s gonna hurt you here.” Sam hears Ophelia clatter up behind him and then Dean’s burning heat and strong arms are replaced by Ophelia’s cooler and slimmer ones.  Sam bends down and buries his face blindly into her neck and inhales the smell of her conditioner and shampoo, her nicotine and ink scent.  
  
Now it’s her voice surrounding him, and Sam was already slowing down but that takes him the rest of the way. “Ok Sammy. Let’s get you cleaned up honey. It’s ok now. I’ve got you and Bobby and Dean are gonna stay out here and watch the doors alright? Come on Sammy your face is a mess.” Dean slips under one of his arms and Ophelia gets the other one. The two of them get him to the door leading to the bedrooms and the bathroom, and then she’s turning him sideways and the three of them are through the door. Dean disappears and Ophelia takes him into the bathroom. A cool cloth washes his face, two pills and a glass of water are in his still shaking hands, and the whole time her voice is soothing him. “Ok Sammy take the pills and drink ok? I got you honey. You’re fine. No one’s coming for you or me ok?”  
  
He swallows the pills and the water, lets her lead him into the bedroom, and falls asleep under the steady stroking of her hand and the gentle sound of her voice.

  
  


\----

 

She comes back out the bedroom looking like a bomb aching to go off. Laser focused blue eyes sweep the two of them and then she reaches out to the coat hook and grabs her jacket. "Watch him. I'm going out."

Bobby grabs her arm and Dean takes a half step towards both of them. "Not alone you ain't. Too dangerous like this." She eyes his hand and then looks up to Bobby's face.

"Somebody's got to be here if he fucking wakes up Bobby. What are you suggesting?" Her voice is worse than the look on her face, but Bobby is unimpressed.

"Take Dean." When her head shakes Bobby squeezes her arm once. "Show him. If nothing else give the boy _something_." Dean doesn't want to be taken. He's not sure what's going on, but he needs to be here. The look on Sam's face… He needs to be here. Instead he nods once when she looks at him, grabs his jacket, and then follows her out to the Jeep. The wind whips coldly through the car and the stereo blasts some hard metal music Dean doesn't recognize. No more classic rock tonight apparently

They end up at a bar slightly nicer than the ones he's used to. The bartender greets her by name, and several of the patrons nod in recognition. There are a good number of older barflies here, the kind of people Dean's used to, and a group of young college types at the end of the bar drinking and being loud. Dean knows the score without having to think about it. Up and up types slumming it to brag to their friends. What he doesn't know is why they look over at himself and Ophelia and get tense. Quiet.  
  
"So you come here a lot?" Her laugh sounds surprised and almost frantic, but her face says she gets it. He's glad. They drink for a while in silence, and then the guys from the end of the bar make their move. They send a blonde, the kind of hot that covers a wealth of daddy issues Dean's all too familiar with. She's barely even subtle about it when she slips in beside Dean and leans against his shoulder  
  


"Ophelia, did you finally trade up?" There's a wealth of information in that simple phrase, but Ophelia's response is tight and cuts off any chance of Dean learning more.

"Chelsea, you have roughly eight fucking seconds to stand up and walk away. At the end of those eight seconds I'm going to try my hand at scarification. I've never done it before, but I hear it's much fucking easier than tattooing and I'm a quick goddamn study." She has that voice again. The one she used to tell Bobby she was headed out and logic be damned. The blonde pulls up and back quickly

"You can't just threaten people."  
  


"Four, three, two-" The girl's off like a shot, and Ope downs her next drink and then stands. "We're about to have some company. Get your shit." She drops a wad of cash on the table and then pulls her jacket on. Dean's already up, blood thrumming and fists loosely clenched. It's not really a bad thing, because if he's honest he's been itching for a fight since earlier tonight. Better these guys than her or Sam. When the group of frat-looking sons of bitches get even with them he's already loose-legged and in the proper stance. He cocks his best grin at them even as he feels Ophelia step up close to his side.

"Sorry boys. The lady and I were just leaving. You'll have to wait 'til next time to get a dance."

The tallest of them steps forward, and Dean knows instinctively it's the guy standing right behind him that's the real threat. Body posture is stronger, eyes colder, and the others keep a certain distance from him that Dean knows all too well.  
  


"Where's the freak Ophelia? Still hiding in his room and spouting off lies about _real_ men?" Dean glances her way and watches how her head cocks to the left. He takes it for the signal it is. The combat boot he was studying the other day snaps out without hesitation and cracks the guy in the knee, and when his face is level she punches it twice with mechanical precision. Eye, nose, and then she's stepping back as Dean swings for the leader and takes him in the jaw. The guy staggers once, and the fight is officially on. Dean loses track of who he's hitting or where she's gone. Too lost in the brutal and familiar push-pull of the bar fight. The smell of cigarettes and booze, the sound of fucking " _November Rain_ " of all songs, and the feel of flesh under his knuckles. The bright bursts of pain only fuel that rage and movement. It's all there; dad's silence, the bullshit with the curse, the terrified look on Sam's face earlier, all of it loose and moving through his fists.

  
He catches a glimpse of Ophelia kicking the leader in the ribs and shouting, "Who's the bitch now motherfucker!" But then he's hitting one of them in the solar plexus and reminding himself that this is about crippling injuries not potentially lethal ones. It's tempting to go for the throat, but these are _humans_. Then the regulars are surging forwards and breaking up the fight, and Dean is being half-carried by two older men as he watches another guy scoop Ophelia up almost tenderly and turn her away from the guy she's been working over. It occurs to Dean that this probably wasn't a pleasing coincidence from the way she focused on that one man. That this may have been planned. At least she'll finally owe him some goddamn answers.  
  


Their tab is covered and they don't have to do anything else but leave quietly. The bartender winks at Ope on the way out the door and she laughs carelessly and waves to him like it's a social function instead of the end of a brawl. She starts the car up and backs out of her space before lighting a cigarette, and Dean can see in the parking lot lights that it's not her lipstick, but actual blood smeared around her mouth. She's got another laceration on her cheek, and one of her fingers is popped at an odd angle as she inhales through her nose and catches him watching. She lets out a primal noise and slaps his shoulder with the injured hand before focusing on the road. Dean wonders briefly how drunk she is that she can't seem to care one of her fingers is dislocated.

"So we blew off steam. Wanna tell me what tonight was all about? What you're supposed to show me?" She glances his way in the dark, face illuminated green by the dashboard lights, and there's a manic grin there that would scare Dean if he wasn't immune to the sort of bloodthirsty madness she's giving off right now.  
  


"That was a Thursday night in Maine. Damn but I love a good fight. Motherfuckers never saw us coming!" She lets out that noise again and Dean taps her shoulder and points at the side of the road. She takes the hint and pulls over, her face fighting a look of sobriety. He takes her wrist gently and then starts the countdown, popping her finger back in at two instead of one. She never makes a sound.

"You wanted that fight. You wanted to get away from Sam. Why'd he freak out? Who was that guy?"

The smile is rapidly deflating, becoming something more like a snarl, and Dean is briefly overwhelmed with the urge to lick a finger and clean some of the blood off her face. She's a pretty girl, but right now she looks barely human.

"He thought the car tailing you was Brady. He always thinks trouble is Brady. As for that guy? Some closeted douchebag. Flirted with Sam then outed him to the fucking public. Called Sam a homo slut and a bitch." She takes a deep breath and then lets it out, pitching her cigarette out the window without a second look and rubbing at her face. "You're pretty handy in a bar fight." It's an apology and a thank you, and Dean recognizes all of that even as his head reels. _Lies about real men._

"So that was Sam's last attempt at a relationship? Ok. Makes sense. What I don't get is why you haven't just told Sam the truth if it freaks him out this bad." It's easier to control the anger now that he's let off so much steam.

"Yeah. Fuck that's-uh-" She looks momentarily lost, and then her hand sweeps brutally across the view in front of them. "Because I don't know if he can handle it. I don't fucking know what knowing I'm a murderer would do to him." There's a brutality to the line of her mouth that Dean knows all too well, and suddenly he knows exactly where she's coming from. It doesn't make it any easier.

"You've gotta tell him." Her eyes cut his way and then she puts the car in drive and gets back on the road.

  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
At some point in the night Sam wakes up to hear Dean’s hushed voice cutting through the darkness. He can smell a cigarette burning, whiskey and blood, and if he weren’t so comfy and sedated he would lecture her about smoking in bed. About getting into fights. He's too familiar with these smells attached to her. Instead he listens in. “-and tell him.”  
  
Her voice is tight and thick when it responds. “We'll discuss this in a few minutes. Outside.”  
  
Dean’s tone comes back raspy and harsh. “You didn’t see his face sweetheart. He was-you gotta make it fucking priority one.”  
  
Her hand comes over and strokes his hair once softly before she responds. She sounds vicious and bloodthirsty despite the softness of her touch. “Sam is always my first priority. Lecture me when he’s yours. Go the fuck away now.”  
  
When he’s gone Sam hears her out the cigarette and then shift around to take the ashtray off the bed. “When’d you wake up?”  
  
“Few seconds.” His voice sounds slurry and thick, but he’s more aware than he was.  
  
“Gonna remember this in the morning?”  
  
Sam nods once and she either sees it or senses it because she slides down so her face is right across from his. There's a cut in her lip and one on her cheek. She puts one small hand on either of his face and speaks firmly. “Sam it wasn’t Brady. I swear it wasn’t.”  
  
“You don't know.” He’s slipping away already but he needs her to really understand how much of a mess he’s gotten her into. She strokes his cheekbones lightly.  
  
“No Sammy I know. Go to sleep now honey. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”  
  
Sam obeys.

 

 

\---

 

 

Dean's sitting on the porch with Bobby, eyes trained on the woods and a shotgun propped in his lap. "This is pointless."

Bobby grunted once and shifted in his own seat. "Well it won't hurt to keep an eye out for a little bit."  
  
"This is supposed to be a safe house Bobby. What the hell is going on? What was she showing me by starting a bar fight?" The older man shifted uncomfortably, and then Ophelia came out onto the porch and sat in front of them. She already had a cigarette burning, but Dean watched her light a new one off the end and throw the first away.  
  


"I can-uh-I can answer that. Sort of." Bobby threw her a dark look that Dean just caught.

 

"What am I missing here?" He felt that old sense of foreboding. It was always something. Always something, and there was Dean expected to go along with it.

 

She took a deep breath and then stood and stepped away. Dean could just make out half of her bruised face in the porch light as she leaned against the railing and tapped ashes off her cigarette. "Sam was fifteen. Fifteen when that fucker found him and preyed on him. For a year Brady did a total mindfuck on Sam. Worked him over from every angle, shot him full of drugs, just fucking everything you can imagine. So it made sense to me that Sam couldn't tell the difference between reality and nightmare when I got him out."

Dean glanced Bobby's way as the slow realization began to dawn on him. The concern for her medication, Bobby's insistence they travel so far out of their way because she was the only practitioner that could help, and their combined efforts to get him alone with Sam. To entice him. Then tonight. Having him defend Sam's honor. _Learn Sam's enemies_.

She was waiting, and all he could do was nod and hold her gaze to the best of his ability in the dark.

"He was gone. Totally gone. I drove him back here and Uncle Jeff and I took care of him, but it was a struggle. A fucking fight every step of the way. Then I went away with Jeff for that salt and burn. When I got back I found Sam on the floor overdosing. He thought Brady was coming back for him. Believed it. He can't-" She sucked in a harsh breath and then looked away. "I haven't told him the truth because he's not ready, but he has to be and soon. Because I don't want him to confuse what happened to him with what's out there, but he can't be fucking alone. Do you get it? He needs someone who can assure him they know the dangers and they'll protect him."

Dean's eyes narrow tightly. "You're dying."

Her fingers jerk hard in the air, and then she really looks at him. The light is unforgiving in her face. "We're all fucking dying dude. Get more specific."

"You're dying soon."

"It's not-" She stops suddenly and looks at Bobby before looking back to Dean. He feels a surge of anger directed right at her and the situation they've placed him in. "Fuck man. Glare harder I might die right now."

"Not fucking funny." Bobby growls it out before settling back into his slightly shamed posture.

"Yeah I know it isn't. Listen, Dean, it's not a sure thing. I just-uh-statistically people with my condition live to be about thirty. Sometimes longer, but usually not. I'm doing really well though, and there's a possibility I'll live to be a ripe old age. But I don't like taking fucking chances when it comes to Sam. I need to know there's somebody who'll look out for him. Come if he needs help." She shrugs once and it's the most unnatural shrug he's ever seen. "I need to know Sam has protection. Bobby promised, but I need more than just Bobby. You guys don't have the best life expectancy either."

Dean looks to the older hunter and watches how he stares at his feet and shifts his ballcap. "I'm sorry son. It wasn't honest of me I know that. I just…I like the kid, and I wanted to be sure you know?"

He half stands, but there's nothing here to take his aggression out on. Anything he says will be held against him, and there's nothing he can do. Nowhere to go with it, so he just stands there jiggling his legs and clenching his fists.

"So you brought me here 'cause if she fixes my curse I'll owe her big time, and that translates into me coming back every time he thinks some dead dude is chasing him? And just in case I'm not grateful enough, make sure I'm into his ass right? Whore him out a little to protect him." It's not fair. Not fair to Dean, which he's used to, but also not fair to Sam. Which, for some reason Dean can't put his finger on, is un-fucking-acceptable. That the root of Sam's problem was some violent crazy guy, so they'd stick him with another one. Apparently though, Dean isn't the only one who's angry.

Ophelia is in his face before he can blink, fist colliding with his jaw and sending him careening backwards into the wall of the house. Bobby's up in a flash but she's against him with her arm pressing hard into his windpipe.

"You don't get to fucking judge me. I told you not to flirt with him. That was your call not mine. I just wanted you to think of him as a fucking friend you egotistic piece of shit. You wanna get fixed and walk away? Fine. I'll fucking do that, but I've seen the way you look at him. Don't act like being asked to be a part of his life is doing anybody a favor you fucker."

She's gone then, two steps back and shaking as she lights another cigarette. Bobby reaches for her but she's slipping out of his grasp and heading for the door. "Fuck this Bobby. This was a terrible idea. Fucking Winchesters."


	6. Chapter 6

They don’t get a chance to discuss it in the morning. When Sam wakes up she’s gone to get a rental with Bobby. He reads her note and then covers his face and focuses on taking deep breaths. In the light of morning there is no question that Sam has made an ass of himself. Dean probably misread the situation, some kid fucking around instead of a malevolent force, and Sam lost his shit right in front of the guy. He limps out into the kitchen and finds Dean sitting at the table with an empty bowl next to him and Sam’s cereal already poured. Dean silently adds milk and pushes it towards Sam before getting up and pouring him coffee.  
  
  
“I also make perfect cereal. Sit down. I’m going to wrap your knee and you’re gonna use the crutches today.”  
  
  
Sam peers at the bowl instead of staring at Dean. He has to eat it or he’ll look like a bigger child than he already does. He takes a seat and begins to eat, surprised when Dean takes his ankle and pulls Sam’s foot into his lap. He wants to jerk his leg back but that’ll hurt and only make things worse so he holds perfectly still, spoon clutched tightly, while Dean pushes up his sweat pants and makes a sympathetic noise at the sight of his black and blue knee.  
  
  
Sam finally speaks while Dean’s strong hands are wrapping the Ace bandage in circles around his joint to give it stability. “I’m sorry I went off on you. It wasn’t fair and-”  
  
  
Dean’s hands jerk once and then go back to their work. “It was fine. How are you feeling this morning?”  
  
  
When Dean finished his work he lowered Sam’s pant leg and then stood carefully before lowering Sam’s leg into the chair he’d been occupying. He went to the fridge and came back with an ice pack. After he’d placed it Dean took the chair at the end of the table and studied Sam.  
  
  
“I’m fine. Embarrassed. Probably have some explaining to do.” Sam looked down at the bowl to escape the weight of the green eyes.  
  
  
“Then explain. I’m a good listener.” He heard Dean shift in his chair and Sam took several deep breaths.  
  
  
“I was in the foster care system for a while. When I was fifteen I met this guy that…I started to go with him. Eventually he offered for me to move in, to save me from the current home, and I took the offer. It didn’t take long to realize I’d shacked up with a monster, but it took longer to realize I was becoming one too. It went on for a little over a year and then I reached my limit. Ope pulled me out of there but…”  
  
  
Sam clenched the spoon harder and then realized it was bending in his big fist. He stared at it hopelessly for a minute before dropping it on the table and looking up in the vicinity of Dean’s face. “I don’t deserve to be here. I don’t deserve her. You ever done something so awful you know you can’t be forgiven Dean? That it taints your blood? Your soul?”  
  
  
Dean was silent for a long moment and Sam almost got up and left before he finally responded. “Yeah. I know that feeling, but Sam there’s nothing you coulda done that-“  
  
  
“I did. I can’t explain it to you but I did.” Sam thought of those long ago days and Brady’s encouraging voice, his harsh hands, the constant mixture of self-loathing and reassurance. “My mistakes are endless.”  
  
  
He covered his face with his hands and tried to hold back tears. He didn’t want to cry in front of Dean, didn’t want to cry at all, and he almost prayed that Ophelia would come back and take him out of the room before he could make it all worse.  
  
  
Strong fingers gripped his and pulled his hands away. He looked up at fierce green eyes. “I know you don’t trust me Sam, and that’s probably good instinct on your part, but believe me when I say nothing you’ve done could be that bad. That girl dotes on you for a reason. You gotta let this one go. You made mistakes, everybody makes mistakes, but that doesn’t mean the rest of your life is spent paying for them.”  
  
  
Sam stared at him for a long time, his hands captured in Dean’s smaller and tougher ones, his eyes locked on Dean’s green ones, and the tension ratcheted up until Sam didn’t think he could take it. Dean leaned in, considered, and then brushed his lips once against Sam’s in a chaste echo of a kiss.  
  
  
Dean moved away from him and Sam heard car doors slamming outside. Bobby came in a moment later with an amused expression. “Ophelia had to leave. Emergency at the shop. She said if you wanted to go to class today I should take you.”  
  
  
Sam nodded once and leveraged himself out of the chair before limping back to his room. He stopped inside the door and touched his lower lip for half a second before taking a deep breath. He could do this. He could.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
Dean watched them drive off and then headed outside to the wood pile. Bobby had mentioned that he was going to chop wood today before he left, but Dean needed physical activity to distract himself. He stripped to the waist in anticipation of the heat the activity would bring up and then lined up the first log.  
  
  
Sam was killing him here. Dean couldn’t get his head wrapped around it honestly. One moment he was furious with the guy, that piece of ass comment last night had struck a little too close to home, and the next moment he wanted to grab Sam up and hold him. Shit, Dean was starting to think like some chick flick movie character. Then this morning, the big shoulders slumped inwards like Sam was trying to disappear into himself. It was amazing that a guy so large could look so damn small.

 

Added to all of it was the revelation from last night. The realization that Dean had been led here to fall for Sam, or become his friend, or _whatever_ just so that he'd stick around. Take on the responsibilities she'd been shouldering. A part of him wanted to say that if he'd just been asked he would have done it. He was a hunter, and helping people was his job. It wasn't true though. It wasn't the kind of thing he usually did. Sure if they got a call from Caleb or Pastor Jim they dropped everything and moved out, but those were old family friends. People who had earned that sort of V.I.P status. It didn't rankle any less that he'd been tricked and trapped, but now…  
  
  
Now Dean had kissed him, an act he couldn’t fully comprehend right now, and there was Sam staring up at him with these hopeful hazel eyes and Dean couldn’t-  
  
  
He missed a log and the shock of the axe hitting the chopping block rang through Dean’s arms and had him dropping the handle and cursing lowly. He heard a car headed up the drive and turned to see the Jeep crawling along the path behind him. He waved once half-heartedly and Ophelia waved back. She parked and then walked back to him. “Dean. It’s cold out here and you’re sweating. Get inside and wash up.”  
  
  
“You tell him the truth?” Last night he’d been angry with her. This morning he was a bit more sympathetic. She wasn't wrong. Sam needed somebody to make sure he would be ok. Still, she and Bobby could have gone about it a better way.  
  
  
“No. I will tonight. Look, Dean, I owe you an apology. I flipped my shit last night, and you have every right to be angry. I tricked you, and that was a shitty thing to do. I just-ah fuck man it's just-” She looked away and fumbled in the pocket of her jacket for her cigarettes. "That guy last night? That's what it's like. It was obvious he was just some closeted jerk, but I let it go because Sam was interested. Then he pulled that bullshit and all I had left was clean-up. That's what it's like man. Clean-up. Sam's been taught he's so worthless he'll take whatever he can get and be thankful, but he deserves so much fucking more. I'm not asking you to move in and wear an apron or anything. Just-I need to know there are people who _know_ him. Who'll know he's worth more and push him to take it. Swoop in if he needs it. I had no fucking right to trick you, but I just-"

 

"Stop. It's ok. I'm kind of-" Dean stopped and rubbed the back of his neck. "You and Bobby are right. He needs somebody. I'm not opposed to being that somebody."

He didn't miss the grateful look, or the quickly suppressed hope. “How’d he look this morning?”  
  
  
“I kissed him. That was-yeah look I shouldn't have suggested you were whoring him out. That was way out of line.” It was out before Dean could stop it, lingering in the air between them as her face remained placid and she lit her cigarette.  
  
  
“Yeah. It was. How was it?”  
  
  
“Chaste. Dry. What the fuck am I doing?” He thought of Sam’s lips and rubbed tiredly at his jaw.  
  
  
“Coming inside and taking a shower hopefully. You smell fucking rank.” She gave him a half-smile and then walked away. She sent one last shot over her shoulder. "But look at you. Chopping wood without tiring. You're getting better already."  
  
  
Dean followed her inside, showered, changed, and then met her in the living room. “What was the emergency?”  
  
  
“Someone broke into the shop and rifled through our fucking files. Looking for who knows what.” She leaned back in the armchair and stretched. “Fucker didn't even take any money. Do you want to kiss him again?”  
  
  
Dean snorted and sat down on the couch before considering his boots. “He told me last night he didn’t trust me. That I was just ‘a hot piece of ass’.” It came out more bitter than he wanted it to.  
  
  
“Is that all you are?” Dean glanced up once to see her face and when he didn’t spy pity he let out a deep breath and considered the question.  
  
  
“Probably yes.”  
  
  
“Well then that’s good. I can stop liking you as a human being. What a relief.” Her voice was dry but her lips curled up in a smile. “Look man I really am sorry. I'm just fucking desperate. Really desperate.”  
  
  
“I get that.” Dean thought of Sam's face again and then shoved it away to focus on her. "How long do you really have?"  
  
  
“That remains to be seen.” She stood abruptly and headed for the bedrooms. “I have to get my shit ready. That client is coming tonight after I drop something off for Sam. Dean?”  
  
  
It was said over her shoulder and he didn’t bother to look up when he responded. “Yeah?”  
  
  
“I don’t know what your deal is and I don’t care. When you decide you’re worth it you should go after it. Got me? Forget me and forget Bobby and just do what's right for you.”  
  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Sam got home to find Ope sitting at the kitchen table laughing with Dean. She looked up when he came in and then lifted herself from the table and wrapped her arms around him. He leaned one crutch against the wall so he could use the arm to hold her. They stayed like that for a long moment before she pulled back and looked up at him.  
  
  
“Hey Sam, what’s for dinner?” He laughed and stepped away.  
  
  
“Leftovers. I have a paper to work on.” She frowned and considered him.  
  
  
“Disappointing. Oh well.” He watched her walk away with a slight skip in her step and almost laughed again. His eyes moved across the kitchen and landed on Dean, saw the way Dean was considering him, and crutched his way after her.  
  
  
She was in his room sorting through her bag to pull out the books she wouldn’t need.  
  
  
“How late do you have to work tonight?” He collapsed into his desk chair and watched her consider a thick book before dropping it back into the bag.  
  
  
“I shouldn’t be home much later than ten. So Dean-" She cut off when the computer speakers started to go off. He'd had her and Bobby bring his personal system up so he could finish the program. Apparently it had hit its destination. She raised an eyebrow and Sam engaged the call.

 

Loki's bright amber eyes lit up the screen. _"Hamlet! How goes-oh my. What light through yonder monitor breaks."_ He waggled eyebrows and Sam didn't miss the smirk on Ope's face that turned to disapproval.

"I know I'm not a genius like you two, but I'm pretty sure that's the wrong goddamn play." She bent over the edge of the desk and caught Loki's eyes. "What bullshit are you trying to talk my brother into now?"

 

Sam watched Loki's eyes dip down to her cleavage, and how she didn't move to get it out of his viewpoint. _"Well I was-Opey you have to tell me. Are they pierced? Inquiring minds you know."_

 

She huffed out a breath and gave him the finger before standing up. "You kids play nice. My ass is supposed to be at work."

 

 _"I've got some work your ass can do."_ Sam heard her laughing all the way down the hall before he turned back to the screen. Loki raised an eyebrow. _"You look like shit kiddo. Wanna talk about it?"_

 

"Not really." He considered that. Other than Ophelia Loki was the only friend he really had. Bobby and Jeff didn't count. "Maybe. We have a house guest."

Loki's other eyebrow joined the first. _"Oh really? Do tell."_ He produced one of his trademark candy bars and leaned back in his chair.

 

"This guy. Dean. He's a friend of an old family friend. Supposed to be staying for a while." Something flickered over Loki's eyes and then was gone just as quickly. Whatever it was Sam filed it away for consideration later. "I dunno. I'm just adjusting."

 

Loki knew very little about Sam. He'd made sure of it. Still, the guy knew he had issues with real people, and that he and Ophelia stayed off the radar.

 

 _"You worried he's trouble, or worried he's **trouble**?"_ The eyebrows waggled and Sam choked for a second as he considered the question. A flash of the wanted poster came along with the image of Dean's lips.

 

"Both. Is that bad?"

Loki's smirk was wickedness incarnate. _"I don't think a thing is worth it unless it's a **little** bit of trouble Hammy. Still, if you're concerned I can run a search or two. This guy got a second name?"_

 

"Winchester. But don't bother ok? It's fine. He's fine. Any more work you need done?"

 

Loki's eyes flitted once to something above his camera and then settled back on Sam's face. _"Not at the moment, but let's talk about WoW for a second-"_  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
When Sam got back out into the kitchen Dean looked up from the book he was reading and put his spoon down. Sam sat across from him quietly.  
  
  
“Hey Sam you want me to heat you something for dinner?” Dean grinned. “I can reheat with the best of them.”  
  
  
Sam shook his head and leaned back in his chair pushing his bangs out of his face. Dean stood and studied him for a minute. “All the same, I’m gonna heat you a bowl of soup and one of those burgers from yesterday. You need to eat more. Fill out those huge bones.” He heard Dean sorting through stuff in the fridge, programming the microwave, plating, and then a bowl of soup and a hamburger were dropped in front of him.  
  
  
Sam nodded his thanks and then started on the soup. He was alone in the house with Dean. He stirred the soup once and kept his eyes downward.  
  
  
“Wanna watch a movie Sam?” Dean’s voice was full of forced levity and Sam nodded and dropped the spoon in the bowl pushing himself upwards. In a flash a strong hand was gripping his shoulder and holding him down. “Finish your dinner first. Ok?”  
  
  
Sam wanted to push him away and lean into the touch all at the same time. He finished the soup and ate half the burger before getting up and watching Dean grab the dishes and dump them in the sink. Sam took a spot on the couch and was surprised when Dean sat at the other end. “What yah wanna watch Sam?”  
  
  
Sam shrugged once and looked at the wall. There was silence for another few seconds and then Dean’s voice came out silky and low. “Would you prefer we just made out for a while?”  
  
  
He jerked hard and his eyes flew upwards to see Dean’s easy and teasing grin. “Calm down Stretch I’m just playing. Pick a movie.”  
  
  
Sam thought about it for a minute and then grabbed his crutches and made his way over to the DVD library. He sorted through Ophelia’s OCD system and found the one he wanted before sliding it into the player. He dropped back onto the couch and watched as the previews loaded up.  
  
  
They watched the movie in silence, several feet separating them, and Sam relaxed about halfway through. He’d chosen a comedy, something light and lacking romance, in the interest of avoiding any more emotional drain. Dean’s laugh was distracting and pleasing at the same time, and Sam enjoyed it fully as the movie played out in front of them. When it was over he used his crutches to angle himself upwards and was surprised when Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.  
  
  
The green eyes were too intense, and yet Sam couldn’t look away. He felt like a mouse staring up at a cobra, and he held perfectly still when Dean leaned in and rubbed a thumb over Sam’s jaw. They stayed silent the whole time. Sam let him touch for several long seconds before he turned his face and captured the thumb in his mouth, listening to Dean’s gasp of surprise before he gave one long suck and released the digit.  
  
  
He wasn’t surprised this time when Dean leaned in, one strong rough hand holding his jaw, and slanted his lips over Sam’s again. That mouth. Jesus, that mouth was incredible and Sam let it move over his for a long time before he opened his lips and let Dean in.  
  
  
The older man deepened the kiss and his fingers tangled in Sam’s hair as he moved closer on the couch. Sam realized the little noises he could hear were his own, and that Dean was making similar sounds in response. He moved his own hands to Dean’s forearms, corded and tight, and then slid them upwards to grip rock hard biceps and held on.  
  
  
When he felt dizzy and overwhelmed Sam pushed lightly and Dean immediately pulled back. Pink lips swollen and full Dean shook his head and spoke in a low growl. “What the fuck are we doing here Sam?”  
  
  
Sam shook his head and licked his own lips as he watched Dean’s pupils dilate further at the motion. “I think we’re kissing. That would seem like the simple answer.”  
  
  
Dean nodded and then grabbed Sam’s arm. “I gotta tell you something Sammy.”  
  
  
Sam winced internally at the nickname, no one but Ophelia ever used it, and then let it go. If Dean wanted to use Sammy he’d let him. “You married? Involved elsewhere?” Sam hoped Dean would say no and was pleased when the man shook his head.  
  
  
“This won’t be an easy road Sam. ‘M complicated and dangerous and I can’t make you promises. When the time comes I’m gonna have to leave.” Dean’s fingers squeezed his bicep while his other hand traveled up and touched Sam’s lips. “I’d like it if I could come back though.”  
  
  
Sam considered his options. Could he do that? Could he get emotionally involved and then watch Dean leave? Just hang around and wait for when he’d get a chance with this man? Hope that "I'm dangerous" wouldn't translate into fists and teeth?  
  
  
Dean tilted his head once, a hopeless look crossing his face as he started to pull his hands away and Sam grabbed them before they could leave him entirely. His voice was too rough, too low to be mistaken for anything other than pure want. “Of course you can come back. Anytime.”

  
Dean studied him for a long tense moment, released him and leaned in to press another one of those chaste dry kisses on his jaw. When he stood he held a hand out to Sam and Sam took it.

  
“You need to go to bed. So do I.” Sam tried not to, he really did, but the shaking started up instantly at Dean’s tone. He watched realization cross Dean’s face, and then regretful amusement. “No man, not like that. Not yet. Separate beds.”  
  
  
Sam nodded once, grateful and disappointed at the same time, and then headed for his own room. He sat on the bed for a long time simply staring out the window at the night sky and considering what had just happened.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean was half reading the history of demons that Ophelia had suggested to him and half thinking about what had happened on the couch when the screaming started. The word _no_ over and over again in Sam’s voice, agonized and horrified, and Dean dropped the book and launched himself off the bed so fast he almost missed the doorknob in his urgency.  
  
  
He spun himself towards Sam’s door and threw it open to find Sam curled up on the floor, hands gripping his head and face white as a sheet while he screamed out that one word.  
  
  
Dean dropped to his knees, grabbed Sam’s shoulders and shook him until Sam’s eyes finally opened, tears streaming down his face as he reached for Dean. The kid’s voice was fragile and husky when it came out. “Find-gotta find-“ he tried to push away from Dean, and it didn’t take a genius to remember what came next. Dean grabbed the wastebasket beside Sam’s desk and held the younger man’s hair as Sam threw up everything he’d eaten violently. When the heaving finally finished Dean left Sam just long enough to get a cold cloth and a glass of water from the bathroom.  
  
  
He made Sam drink, wiped at the kid’s face, and then pulled Sam in tightly and held the shaking body. Sam felt ice cold, almost painful to touch, and Dean rubbed at his arms to try to promote some warmth as he listened to harsh breathing and low moans.  
  
  
Finally Sam took a deep breath and spoke again, voice just as bad as it had been before he threw up. “Where’s Ophelia?”  
  
  
Dean glanced at the doorway and then looked back at Sam. He didn’t have time to be bothered that Sam needed someone else to comfort him. All progress towards calming Sam down would be lost if he couldn’t nip Sam’s concern in the bud right now. “She’s still at the shop." _Christo_ was that his voice? It sounded like he’d been gargling marbles.  
  
  
Sam shook his head and flailed upwards on his desk 'til Dean got the hint and grabbed Sam’s phone. When the time display told them it was after eleven Sam let out a low keen and opened the phone to fumble with the buttons. Ophelia’s picture popped up on the screen, her hair a chestnut brown, as the phone dialed her. It rang for several minutes and then went to a brisk voicemail. Sam hung up and dialed again.  
  
  
“Sam.” No response, the kid’s head was hung low as he watched the screen, hanging up and dialing again. “Sam. Hey Sam.” Finally panic-stricken eyes met his again. “She’s at the shop. It’s ok. She wouldn’t answer while she was working would she?”  
  
  
Sam shook his head and then closed his eyes, despair in every line of his face, and didn’t that just fucking kill Dean a little. He gripped the kid tighter as Sam started to cry again. “She’s not working. He took her. I saw it. He took her.”  
  
  
Sam began to shake and Dean looked around helplessly. It took too long to make a command decision, brain locked in a war with his gut. "Stay right here Sammy. Stay. I'll be right back."  
  
  
“Ope-” It was a pained groan but Dean was already moving.  
  
  
Dean slid his way into the bathroom and started rifling through the pill bottles, dropping four or five of them before his shaking hands found the one he knew was a sedative. Sam took them from Dean’s hand, swallowed more water, and continued to shake helplessly. His voice was broken and tortured. “We have to find her-he took-he took her and he-he choked her-“  
  
  
“Sam.” Dean could hear the desperation in his voice and he took a deep breath before tilting Sam’s head up and parting the curtain of his hair. “Stop and breathe man. Breathe deep ok? Long and slow. You’re hyperventilating. It was a dream ok? You were having a bad dream and you’re awake now. She’s fine, just busy, and when she gets home she’s gonna be upset you got yourself all worked up.”  
  
  
Sam shook his head and tried to get out of Dean’s grip, but he tightened it and held on so that Sam would continue to warm up in the circle of his arms. “Wasn’t asleep. I wasn’t asleep Dean. Call Tommy.”  
  
  
Dean stroked his hair and waited for Sam’s muscles to relax, to stop trembling and release some of that awful tension so that Dean could get the kid in bed. “Ok Sam. Ok. You weren’t asleep. It was a waking nightmare. Whatever. It’s still all ok. Everybody’s fine.”  
  
  
“Please,” broken, sad, starting to slur, “please listen to me. She’s in danger. We have to find her.”  
  
  
Dean held him 'til he went slack, and then he lifted Sam up. It wasn’t easy, Sam wasn’t light by any means and if the kid ever bulked up Dean would have to really struggle. Dean moved through the doorway with his burden and out into the living room. He settled Sam onto the couch and sat down. He left again long enough to get the comforter from Sam's bed and cover him carefully.  
  
  
He stroked the floppy and sweat-soaked hair out of Sam’s face before touching one of those sharp cheekbones again.  
  
  
Dean really hoped Ophelia hurried the hell up.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
Sam woke up to a warm hand on his forehead and eyes so gummy and scratchy he could barely open them. Sunlight pierced his skull and he moaned lowly in pain before that hand blocked his eyes. Dean’s voice came gruff and tight. “What do you mean it’s been sitting there all night? That didn’t set off a goddamn alarm bell for you people?”  
  
  
Ophelia. Sam remembered his nightmare with vivid clarity. Except it wasn’t a nightmare, and Sam had known that from the first time. Had known with the same bleak and hateful clarity he’d had in regards to Brady’s humanity. He pushed Dean’s hand away and sat up, the room spinning violently and Sam’s stomach flipping several times before he got it under control. When he met Dean’s eyes he saw the shadows there, the bags, and the way Dean's hand clutched the phone so tight his knuckles were white.  
  
  
"Yeah. You're right. Ok. Thanks for nothing." The older man’s expression had closed off, green eyes studious and predatory.  
  
  
There was a long silence and then Dean nodded once and cupped Sam's cheek gently. “Ok man, what did you dream?”  
  
  
Sam couldn’t help the shock. “What?”  
  
  
“You had a dream and you insisted it was real. I’m assuming that’s because they’ve been real before. Tell me every detail ok?” Dean’s voice was pleasant, soothing, but his face was all business.  
  
  
“You think my dream was real?” It wasn’t that Sam didn’t, just that he couldn’t believe Dean did.  
  
  
“Yeah. I’ve seen weirder.” Dean gave him a helpless half-grin, no smile in his eyes. “Just tell me every detail ok Sam?”  
  
  
“Yeah. Ok.” Sam repeated the dream carefully, his fingers clenching hopelessly in between his thighs as he stared at the carpet. They needed to get it cleaned. When he was done Dean rubbed at his neck for a few moments before he stood, cracking his back and stretching his arms.  
  
  
“Anything else? Little details Sam. Did you see his reflection? Did he shy away from the light? Anything at all?” Dean sounded desperate and Sam wanted to help him but this was getting stranger by the second.  
  
  
“Shy away from the light? Why would he do that? What the hell is going on?” Sam stood and the room spun, his knee gave a warning creak, but he held upright and caught Dean’s eyes.  
  
  
“It matters. I can’t explain right now why. Just anything you can think of.”  
  
  
He had to look away, couldn’t focus on Dean’s eyes. He’d known this was going to happen. He’d seen her walking with the asshole the other day, had that flare of unease when she mentioned dropping off his books for him, and thinking of Dean distracted him. He hadn’t warned her, hadn’t tried to stop it, just gotten so wrapped up in his lust for this other man he’d let her walk into a trap. If she died…oh god if she died Sam didn’t think he’d be able to go on.  
  
  
Something hit him. “He burned himself. On her neck.” Sam watched Dean’s eyes widen and his hands clench into tight fists. “He grabbed the back of her neck first and pulled his hand back, and then he grabbed her skull to pull her in.”  
  
  
“What was she wearing?”  
  
  
“A sweater, t-shirt, jeans. Sneakers.” Dean was shaking his head, his eyes intense and Sam had to pull away.  
  
  
“On her neck Sam. What was she wearing?”  
  
  
“A necklace I bought her. An antique key on a chain.” He watched Dean's face shut off completely, something dark burning low in those mossy green eyes.  
  
  
“Was the chain silver Sam?” Sam nodded and Dean swore softly under his breath. “Do the people who handle security out there know you well? At least know that you and Ophelia are close?”  
  
  
“Yeah.They've seen me ride in with her, and she's introduced me to them more than once. Everybody thinks we’re dating. It keeps outsiders away.” Dean’s eyes softened at that momentarily and then he nodded tightly and left long enough to retrieve Sam’s cell phone.

“Call the Tommy guy first, then building security and say she showed up. Tell them her car didn’t work, she got a ride with someone else, and that she’s sleeping at home today because she doesn’t feel well. You gotta be convincing Sam.”  
  
  
Sam pulled his hand away from the phone and looked at Dean in disbelief. “She’s missing. You want me to make people stop searching for her while some guy has her somewhere?”  
  
  
Dean looked up once and then caught Sam’s eyes. “Yeah I do. The guy that has her? They can’t handle him and they can’t find him. I can. It’s what I do.” He held the phone out again. “Make the calls Sam. We don’t have a lot of time.”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Dean watched Sam sitting on the couch, curled in on himself as he made phone calls. The real Patrick couldn’t be found, and Dean doubted the kid had survived his interaction with the Shifter. Sam looked beyond miserable and Dean found himself torn for the first time in years. Sam’s misery had to come second, had to because this was a _hunt_ now, but damn if Dean’s fingers didn’t twitch to grab the kid and shake him or kiss him 'til he straightened up.

By this point he had confirmed it. Patrick’s car was the one he'd seen following them the other night. Must have backed off when he realized it wasn’t her. No trace of anything at the kid’s house. They were surrounded by rolling countryside and to top things off the university town was full of empty warehouses. More places for a shifter to hole up than Dean could even begin to consider.

He covered his eyes and muttered to himself. “You have to calm down. This is a hunt. We do it right or we lose her. Got it?” They were John Winchester’s words, not his, but they worked. That veneer of control was already falling tightly into place.

Sam’s phone rang and he stared past it blankly. Dean grabbed it up and answered without looking. “Sam’s not available right-“

 _“Dean?”_ It was whisper soft, so low he had trouble for a second figuring out if it was real.

“Yeah sweetheart. Dean. Where are you?”

 

 _“A barn. I think. Big and wooden. Lofty. He went for something and left me here. I got out of the ropes.”_ He heard her take a ragged breath and then another one before she spoke again. _“I can smell manure. Can’t hear cars.”_

 

Sam was looking from the couch with a saucer-sized gaze and white face. He put all of that in the background and focused. “What does he want?”

 

 _“Me. To beg. I haven’t yet. Is Sam ok?”_ Dean shook his head and rubbed at his eyes.

 

“Yeah. I'm taking care of that. I'm coming for you. Any other clues?”

 

 _“He’s coming back. I hear the car. I have to go.”_ Dean heard another ragged breath before he got his wits together.

 

“Hold out as long as you can. Don’t anger him.” He looked at Sam. “I'm gonna find you.”

 

Silence rang back at him, and then the phone beeped to announce it had been disconnected. Sam surged upwards from the couch and wobbled on his bad knee. “Is she ok? Where is she? Does she know?”

 

Dean held up a hand and rubbed at his eyes again. He was exhausted, and stretched paper thin, but he was on now. Instincts and training kicking in at full speed. “I need a map of the area. Aerial. We need to know where every barn near a source of manure is. It’s too late in the season to be planting right?”

 

Sam grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled 'til Dean looked at him. “Is she alright?”

 

Dean didn’t think, didn’t plan, just took Sam’s big hand gently in his and gave the strongest smile he could manage. “She’s alive Sam. That’s step one.”

 

 

 

\----

 

 

There were too many damn barns. Dean studied the map with Sam before sitting back and feeling useless. He had really fucked this up. How could he let her get taken? How could he ignore every fucking sign that Sam's dreams were just a little _too_ intense. He'd been acting like a damn civilian. It didn't help that when Sam insisted he do something Dean had brushed him off in favor of making sure to dope the guy back to sleep. He split the map into circles, each one a separate search radius that Dean could start with. Why the hell did Bobby have to leave now? He grabbed a duffel and headed for the door before he realized Sam was limping after him. “What is it Sam?”

 

“I want to come. I have to help.” He grabbed the crutches and made his way across the living room. Dean responded in a tone that was gentle but firm.

 

“Sam this is where you should be. You should call me if she calls you again. What I'm going to do isn’t for civilians, especially injured ones.”

Sam growled and surged forwards. “She’s my best fucking friend. I’m not staying here. I can help.” Dean studied him for a long minute and then hesitated before speaking.

“Ok. You stay in the car, stay low, don’t interfere.” Sam nodded once and Dean let out a harsh breath and stepped through the door. Sam crutched along as fast as he could to keep up.

The car ride was silent and tense, and Dean tapped the steering wheel constantly as Sam read off the map. It took the entire day to search every barn they’d started with and then begin on the second search area. They didn’t talk, barely looked at each other really, except for Sam to give directions and Dean to follow them. By the time the sun set they’d been to thirty barns and still had no luck. Sam was starting to lose control, and Dean tried to ignore the way the kid was jittering and shaking.

They headed back for the house, Dean forcing Sam to eat a sandwich and sit still for a little while. Dean felt mechanical, precise, furious.

It was while Sam was choking down his own sandwich that the lightbulb almost visibly popped up over his head. “Shit.”

Dean looked up from the map he was studying. “What? What happened?”

“Her cell phone is on. GPS. She has a smart phone with GPS in it.” Sam lurched his way up from the table and hobbled down the hall to the back bedroom. “And I know a guy. Loki. Loki can find her.” Sam collapsed in front of the computer they'd moved, tapped buttons for a few minutes, and then the screen lit up as the call went…

The ringing took forever, and then a rather exuberant looking man with hair a fraction away from pompadour and amber eyes popped up on the screen. _"Hamlet! How's-holy shit kiddo. What happened?"_

Sam rubbed at his face as Dean stayed just out of the camera's view.

“Loki I need your help. I need you to get a trace on Ope's cellphone. If I give you the number can you do that?”

 _“Yeah Hamlet. Gonna tell me what happened?”_ Loki's face was serious, almost grave. It didn't look like an expression he used much.

Sam rattled off the number without hesitation. He could hear tapping, keys flying, and in what seemed like too little time at all Loki was nodding his head.

_“I'm emailing you a map with the coordinates Hamlet. Will you get back to me with a story later? Maybe tell me she's all cool?”_

Dean watched Sam bite his lip and take a deep breath. “I will. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He opened his email and tried to download and open the map. It took two tries before Dean leaned over Sam’s shoulder and clicked the right buttons with his slightly steadier hands. The two of them sat silent as the screen loaded, and then the satellite map popped up. Sam sucked in a breath. “Outside of Belgrade. Ok we can get there in thirty minutes tops. Dean, you drive, I’ll navigate.”

Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder and sent him a brilliant grin. “Good job Sam. I'll be there in no time.”

He felt his smile falter when Sam stood. He already knew what was coming. “I’m going.”

Dean hesitated, briefly, and then nodded. “You stay in the car ok Sam? I’m not kidding here and if I think you’ll get out I’m going to knock you out and leave you here. Got me?”

Sam nodded once. Dean knew, _just knew_ , that Sam wouldn't obey. Wouldn't hold to it, but what else could he do? Now was no time to argue.

 

 

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

Dean spotted the car parked outside the barn, light leaking through the cracks in the boards, and the smell of manure strong from the cow field less than a mile away. He parked the car and checked the rounds in the gun. Silver locked and loaded he flipped the safety off and half-turned in his seat to catch Sam’s desperate gaze. “Stay here Sam. She’s gonna need you when I come back with her.”

 

Sam nodded once and looked down bleakly. The kid was blaming himself pretty hard, and Dean wondered how many times he’d had prophetic dreams. It was interesting, but until this was over Dean couldn’t afford to devote much thought to it. He pushed his door open slowly and slid out, ground solid and silent under his boots.

Dean gripped the gun tightly as he moved to the right. It didn’t take long to be assured this was the place. As soon as Dean stepped within range he could hear her talking through the openings in the boards, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. He slid up to one and peeked, saw only hay, and moved down a few slats 'til he had a view into the barn’s interior. His brain clicked off points as he observed the scene clinically.

Front and rear exit, filled with hay and farm equipment, well-kept and treated. Big open space in the center. She was tied there, hanging from her arms as the Shifter cut into her. Long and shallow cuts, designed to hurt instead of bleed out. He was currently working a line down her thigh, she’d been stripped down to nothing, and his face was fascinated as he moved the knife along the length of her skin. When the cutting stopped the talking stopped, and she hung breathing deeply with her eyes closed. He didn’t fit Sam’s description, so he’d already gone on to his next skin.

His voice was comforting and sweet. “Come on Ophelia. Just a little bit. Just beg me a little bit. Show some humility and I’ll let you go. You just have to make me believe you’re sorry you made me feel so bad after all the hard work I put into this relationship.”

Her head came up, bruises across her throat and split lip reopened, and her eyes narrowed to focus on him. “I’m really jonesing for a cigarette. Don’t you think it’s smoke break time Patrick?” She sounded so calm despite the raspy quality of her choked voice that even Dean was set back momentarily. The Shifter stared at her and then sent one glancing blow to her midsection.

“You’re starting to piss me off. You don’t even want to know all the things I did to get you alone?”

“I’m going to piss on your corpse you know. It’s nothing sexual, but I am gonna enjoy it.” She grinned once and the sight of fresh blood trickling from the cut had Dean moving back to the front door. He took three deep breaths and then jumped slightly when a hand touched his shoulder. He turned to see Sam leaning on one crutch with a serious expression and a gun clutched in one hand.

 _This_ was why he never brought fucking civilians. They didn’t listen. He didn’t have time to argue, there was no telling when the shifter would snap, so Dean put a finger to his lips, pointed to the car, and then turned to the barn doors and lifted the latch. They came open easily and the door swung outwards as Dean stepped in and raised the gun.

The Shifter turned his head and Dean unloaded two rounds into its chest without a second thought. He moved forwards, kicking the body once to make sure the damn thing was already dead even as Sam let out a cry and stumbled forward to release her. Dean cut the ropes and Sam caught her and held her up, his crutch on the ground beside him. Dean watched the reunion with one eye, the other roaming the barn to make sure there’d be no surprises.

Victims typically had one of two responses at this point. Blind panic or complete breakdown. Every now and then you got rage or catatonia, but those were rare and Dean was betting on breakdown. Ophelia went with the “none of the above” option. She smiled carelessly and let Sam wrap his over shirt around her like a dress.

“Hey guys. I’m dying for some nicotine. Anybody bring any?” She grinned up at Sam dopily as he tried to get the buttons done up.

Sam glanced down once and then looked up at Dean. “That’s not the guy that took her. He must still be around somewhere.” Any second now the melting would begin, and Dean wanted Sam as far away as possible before that happened.

Dean watched as Sam studied the bruises on her wrists. She flexed her fingers once and leaned forward to kiss Sam’s cheek. “Stop mothering Sammy I’m fine. That’s Patrick. Same fucker that took me but different face.” If she had giggled here Dean would have thought it was hysteria but she still looked placid and calm. Something was seriously wrong here.

Dean stepped up, slid her out of Sam’s arms, and pulled her up against his chest like she was a baby. “Sam ride in the front. I'll take us back to the house.”

Sam shook his head firmly. “We have to get her to a hospital. She’s bleeding all over the place and he might have-“

“I’m right here. I can hear both of you.” She caught Dean’s eyes. “You do this a lot right?”

He nodded and then cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“Do you have a steady hand for stitching?” Dean nodded. “Then take me fucking home. You’re going to stitch me up.”

He started to walk and then realized Sam wasn't following. He was staring at the corpse. Dean had a mental clock ticking off seconds until the full secret was revealed.

“Sam. Hey Sam, you ok man?” Dean couldn’t handle Sam breaking down right now. They had to get the hell out of here. He looked around for her bag and clothes, found them, and collected anything else he thought was traceable. When he turned back Sam was staring at him in a way he wasn’t sure he liked. The corpse had begun to bubble. “Sam? Let’s get out of here ok?”

  
Sam nodded once and started crutching his way towards the front door of the barn. Dean followed, carefully slid her into the back seat, and then got into the driver's seat before taking off.  
  
When they reached the house Dean carried her again despite her protests and Sam opened the door for the two of them. He watched Sam crutch to the kitchen table and collapse into a chair, and then angled her through the doorways into the bathroom before lowering her onto the toilet.  
  
Dean looked her up and down speculatively, and then kneeled in front of her and started unpacking supplies. When he looked back up she’d unbuttoned Sam’s shirt and shed it. She sat in front of him, naked and seemingly unbothered, sharp blue eyes resting heavily on his face. The shifter had cut several of her tattoos, and Dean wondered if she could work back over them if they scarred.  
  
He started with disinfectant and wasn’t shocked that she barely reacted. He kept his eyes on his work, cleaning long cuts from ankle to knee, thigh to hip, then the ones on her stomach and along the sides of her breasts. “You run hot.” He glanced up at the sound of her voice and saw that she was silently crying, no smile now and no placid calm, her face cramped viciously and mouth in a tight line.  
  
He hesitated, which was unlike him, and then went back to what he was doing. It was harder to work around the silent heaving of her chest but he did. When he touched the disinfectant to her trembling lip she gave him a weak smile and then covered her face with her hands. He had time to study the dark bruises on her wrists, clean the raw wounds from the ropes, and then he was reaching for the needle and the packaged sterile thread. He didn’t realize he was talking to her until he began stitching the deeper cut on her thigh. “-doing just fine sweetheart. Really good. Just keep holding still ok?”  
  
He finished with that cut and moved his eyes up judging what would or wouldn’t need sutures. There was one on her side that would, and the gash on her left breast definitely required more than a few. Her shaking subsided and she looked up at him. “A goddamn shifter.”  
  
Dean met her eyes for half a second and then started on the cut on her side. “Yes. A goddamn shifter. Hold still for me ok?” She held perfectly still as he worked on her side and he kept his focus going. “Are you in a lot of pain?”  
  
Something dark crossed over her face and Dean caught it but he needed to focus and couldn't ask about it. "I'm fine. Sam?"  
  
“Let's focus on one thing at a time.” He finished her side and then eyed her breast. “You sure you want me to do this one? I can direct Sam.”  
  
“Are you interested in my tits Dean?” There was honest curiosity there and he looked up to catch her watching him still.  
  
“Not at the moment. Ask again later?” It was a weak attempt but she smiled at it and gestured to the wound. Dean got to work.  
  
It had to hurt like a bitch, but she stayed completely silent and he worked quickly and efficiently. When he was done with that he almost emptied his supply of bandages wrapping her up. She pointed out where he could find more gauze in the cabinet and he plundered it before finishing up.  
  
When he was done he slid his own button up off and offered it to her. She took it and pulled it around herself, but her fingers wouldn’t seem to work on the buttons. He did it for her. “Sam was really terrified, but he held up ok. Figured out how to track your GPS with some friend of his.”  
  
She watched his fingers working and he watched her face. “Ok.”  
  
“Listen sweetheart if-“  
  
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I have to be fine.” She was shaking again and he waited it out, waited for her to get control again before she met his eyes. “I'm not a fucking damsel in distress, and I can't be. Not in front of Sam. Got me?”  
  
Dean nodded. If his Sam had lived… Well that was all hypothetical, just a guess at what kind of brother Dean would be if he hadn’t failed baby Sam when he was put to the test. “I kissed him. Again. A lot.”  
  
She raised her pierced eyebrow and blinked several times before her mouth moved. “Did you like it?”  
  
He nodded once and started to pack away supplies, taking what was left of her gauze bandages without asking and promising himself he’d hit a store when he could. “He’s-there’s something-“  
  
“Yeah. I know.” When he glanced up she was smiling gently, split and puffy lip pulled into an awkward curve. “You deserve your rep.”  
  
Dean looked away. “Thanks, but I should have seen something on the horizon.”  
  
“Yeah. Fucking dropped the ball on that one. After all everybody knows you're a goddamn psychic." Dean thought of Sam and his dreams, but he held that in. _Later_. They could discuss it later.  
  
“The car. Being followed. That stuff always leads to this stuff and I didn't pay attention.” He felt her hand briefly rub his short hair and he looked up at her.  
  
“There are antibiotics in the cabinet there above the sink. Big ones. I need them.” Dean retrieved them and filled the drinking cup for her. She took one and then leaned back against the toilet. “What are we gonna tell Sam?”  
  
“The truth. He deserves it.”  
  
She rubbed at her eyes for a second and then reached out for Dean’s hand. He gave it to her, pulled her up, and was surprised when she wrapped her arms around him. He half lifted her, and paused when she squeezed him. “I’m going to tell you a secret Dean Winchester. Will you keep it if I do?”  
  
Dean nodded once and watched her face in the mirror. It was blank, flat, something so vastly empty it was painful to look at. She leaned into his ear and whispered lowly, her face now hidden by the side of his, “I've spent my whole life trying to figure out what the fuck I was supposed to be doing until the day I saw Sam on that ground. My whole fucking life.” He felt the warmth of her breath, the soft drip of another tear, and then she continued in that same quiet tone. “I tricked you, and that was shitty, but I need you to see that too. Need you to understand why he's worth it. Especially now. You understand?”  
  
Dean nodded once, leveraged the door open awkwardly around the weight of her, and then carried her out and into Sam’s bed. Sam was waiting and he took her from Dean and limped his way over to the bed. Dean closed the door before either of them started speaking. He headed straight for the liquor cabinet and didn't bother with a glass. Dean’s ability to share and care was being stretched to its limit. He needed sleep.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Sam studied every bandage as if staring long enough would let him see through the gauze and into the severity of the wounds. She stayed still for all of it, a cigarette in one hand and the other rubbing his arm to assure him she was still there. He could understand why she didn't want to go to the hospital. Too many questions, cops being brought in, but she needed to. They never knew how bad this stuff was until the other shoe dropped.  
  
It took everything he had not to cry in relief, not to curl around her and simply stay. Instead he lay down beside her and watched her smoke until he could work up the courage to speak. “Ope. Wanna talk about it?”  
  
She brushed a lock of his hair back and looked thoughtful. “Not a fucking bit. Let’s talk about you making out with Dean.”  
  
He shook his head briskly and then grasped her forearms, careful with them, before kissing the bruises on her wrists. “Break down now Ope. I got you.”  
  
Her mask wavered once, almost gave, and then she put out the cigarette and slid down so she was facing him. “Sammy I don't-“  
  
“It’ll help. It’s not healthy to just bury it all. You told me that.” His fingers brushed her split lip once and then he pulled her face against his chest and kissed her hair. It smelled like sweat and hay. They should have found a way to wash her. Her normal scent had been replaced and Sam _hated it_. He felt her take a deep breath, felt her shudder, and then he felt her break.  
  
She never made a sound, never sobbed out loud or pleaded the way Sam had that first year or after the first semester when they’d do this, but she soaked his shirt and her small hands fisted the material and held on tight. He rocked her through it, talking low and soft and holding tight. After what felt like hours her voice came up, childlike and small, “I thought I'd never see you again.”  
  
“I know. I know Ope. I got you. No one can see you here.” Sam knew, better than anybody, that this was her greatest fear. To be seen like this, vulnerable. It was too close to the truth, and she'd never been good at handling her internal truths. He stroked her hair until she went limp, until she was breathing deeply and evenly, and then he slid out of the bed and limped outside to the porch. He was surprised to find Dean there, staring out into the darkness with a gun on his lap and a liquor bottle beside him.  
  
He sat beside the other man silently and stared up at the night sky. After a while Dean spoke, voice hard and angry. “How is she?”  
  
“Sleeping. Scared. Alive.” Sam hung his hands between his thighs and leaned forward to study the trees with him. “Are we expecting something else?”  
  
“No. I'm just being cautious. If I-" He cut himself off and Sam heard the scrape of glass against the porch, the sound of Dean drinking deeply, then the clink of the bottle replaced. “She was lucky. Most of the time our first clue is a corpse.”  
  
Well that was a depressing thought. "Patrick wasn't human." Not a question but Dean nodded anyway. "You're not surprised, and neither was Ope." Not a question either, but Dean considered it before nodding again. “So what now?” He saw Dean look at him out of the corner of his eye and he worked to explain himself. “What does she do now? Is she marked? Is she still in danger?”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Those things, shifters, usually work alone. It was obsessed with her. There shouldn’t be anything else.” He paused for a second and then took a deep breath. “I really fucked up here Sam. I should have been paying attention to what was going on.”  
  
Sam leaned back and pushed at his hair. “I don’t think you’re the one that had a chance to see it coming.” His voice came out more bitter than he’d meant it to, but he felt Dean jerk and then touch his shoulder briefly.  
  
“She wouldn’t want that. It's not your fault. Not even a little bit.” It’s hard to nod because Sam kinda did know. The sickness afterwards, the intensity, the details, it all pointed to the dreams being prophetic. Still he thought all of that was over…  
  
"So this is what you and Bobby do? What Uncle Jeff did? It's not hunting animals or criminals it's monsters?" Sam didn't even know if he expected an answer, but he heard Dean clear his throat thickly in the dark and then drink again.

"Yeah. We kill monsters."  
  
Sam stood abruptly and limped back into the house. This was what they did for a living. Killed _monsters_. If that was the case then the two of them…well they had no chance. Eventually Dean would learn the truth. Eventually those green eyes would turn to look at him and see Sam for what he really was.

When that day came would Dean kill him too? Would it be something he’d simply go to bed after? Another job done, another day’s work, another bit of evil slain. Of course he would, and it would be done just as efficiently and easily as he’d killed the shifter tonight.  
  
Sam had to cut it off. For both of them, for all of them really, because if Dean or Jeff or Bobby ever knew the truth that would be the end of it. He put one hand to the door, thought of Dean’s mouth on his, those burning hot hands, and then stepped into his own room and slid into bed with her. She murmured softly, his cold skin coming into contact with her sleepy warmth, and then she pulled closer instinctively. It hurt really, because honestly Sam was just as bad as the thing that took her. He was tainting her just by being this close and he couldn’t stop. Leaving would mean death and Sam, despite his faults, wasn’t ready to die


	8. Chapter 8

When Sam woke up he found her sitting on the floor across from the bed with a cigarette burned to the filter and her eyes out of focus. He didn’t rouse her immediately, instead choosing to use his cell phone to call Tommy and tell him she had the flu and she’d been put on bed rest. Tommy was sympathetic and kind about it, and Sam was glad. He called his boss next and told him that she was sick and Sam needed to stay home to take care of her. Once it was all taken care of he crossed the room, his knee a little more stable today, and lowered himself carefully beside her.  
  
He reached out with one arm, pulled her head against his shoulder and felt her jerk. He took the butt from her hand and dropped it in the ashtray before settling more fully against the wall. After a while she spoke, quiet and unsure. “Hey Sam. If you didn’t find me-“  
  
Sam put one hand over her mouth, careful of her lip, and took a deep breath. “Can’t think about that Ope. Not even a little. Got me?”  
  
She nodded once and stroked his hand until he lowered it. “So are you and Dean a thing now?”  
  
He shook his head. “Wouldn’t work. I can’t handle the abandonment.” He felt her head tilt, felt her disbelief, and tried to increase the sincerity in his voice. “Seriously, can you imagine me waiting around for him like some kind of tragic love story? Will he come back? Will I have to bury him?” He forced a chuckle. “I would look ridiculous. I'm more worried about you right now.”

"Said I'm fine. Meant it. How'd you get Loki to find me without giving away our identity?"

Sam paused, bit his lip, and and then shrugged. "I gave him your phone number. There wasn't any other way."

"That's-are you-"  
  
She pushed herself up rapidly and dug around until she found the pajamas she’d shucked off the morning she was taken. She slid them on, grabbed her cigarettes and lighter, and left the room. It was unusual, but she was in a bad place and Sam was willing to simply let it ride. He changed into actual clothes and made his slow and careful way out into the kitchen. She was pouring herself coffee, and Dean was watching her with something like alarm. Sam made his way through the doorway and reached for her arm only to have her jerk it away from him quickly.  
  
Her smile was brittle, forced, a hairsbreadth from a sneer. “I’m fine Sam. Just fine. Want some coffee?” He watched her hands shaking violently as she finished pouring and slopped coffee all over the counter. He ignored Dean and focused on taking the pot from her. “Leave me alone Sam.”  
  
He pulled his hands back as she left the pot on the counter and stepped away with the mug in her hand. He touched her shoulder, tried an apology, “Ope I didn’t mean-,” and she jerked again spilling coffee all over the floor and herself, screaming now as she turned and threw the whole thing down at her feet.  
  
“God damn it Sam stop! I’m fucking-Jesus please _stop_!” He saw Dean standing behind her, eyes understanding and calm as he grabbed her shoulders and lifted her easily out of the hot coffee and glass before putting her down on the other side of it. He stepped forward and moved Sam out of the blast radius, his hands sure and steady before he turned back to her.  
  
“Did you just pop stitches with that movement sweetheart?” His voice was low, husky, _sure_ , as if this was something he always did. Sam bit his lip and watched her rub her face hopelessly.  
  
“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t fucking know.” She walked away from both of them, her hands flexing at her sides, and Dean turned to him and raised an eyebrow.  
  
What could Sam tell him, really, other than that he’d made some kind of mistake and he didn't know what it was. He was a fuck-up, always had been, always would be. He limped away from it, away from Dean’s warm and questioning look, away from Ophelia’s pain, just _away_.  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Dean stared ruefully at her side and then went for the first aid kit. She was standing perfectly still eyes on the bottle of antibiotics and fingers spread wide and stiff. When he came back she was still in the same position, and he nudged her elbow so she’d keep her arm out of the way for his work.  
  
He fixed all three stitches quickly and then cleaned everything off. “You’re running out of first aid supplies.”  
  
She made a harsh noise, sob and laugh combined, and when he looked her way he saw the expressionless look she was giving him. He nodded once and then leaned against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. “Sam say something you didn’t like?”  
  
“You really didn’t seem the type to be so fucking nosy.” There’s no heat in her voice despite the words. Dean recognizes the signs, weariness and defensiveness combining to make her bite at any hand that reached out. He’d been there more than once.  
  
“Yep. That’s me, nosy as all get out. So you want to answer the question? ‘Cause the kid was terrified the last two days and I’m pretty sure anything he said would-“  
  
“He’s going to pull away from you. Last night pushed one of his buttons and now he’ll shut himself off and go distant.”  
  
Dean looked down at his old scuffed work boots silently. It was almost time for a new pair and he hated breaking them in. These had really just gotten to the point he liked them. “Ok. Makes sense. Saw me kill someone and-“  
  
Her head was already shaking, her fingers digging in the pocket of her pants before she found her target and pulled out the pack. She shook it once and her fingers had trouble grasping the filter and pulling one out. “Not that. Sam can handle that. Something about him and his time with Brady. He used to talk about it, but he never really explained it. You hunt monsters and Sam thinks…” She trailed off and lit the cigarette before sitting on the toilet. “I can’t do this right now. My head is in a thousand fucking places and I need to focus but I just can’t.”

She looked up and caught his eyes, her gaze blade sharp and hard, “If I died you would have taken care of him right? If I die anyway you’ll take care of him? You and Bobby? Make sure he doesn’t backslide?”  
  
Dean feels uneasiness creep in. It’s a final statement, something reserved for the terminal and while she came close she’s going to heal just fine now. She said there were no guarantees she was going anywhere. “Backslide into what sweetheart?”  
  
She shook her head once and pulled her hair back, brutally tight, before reaching for the antibiotic bottle and tapping one of the big pills into her palm. “Anything. Everything. Just promise me.”  
  
“I can’t make him let me stay around Ophelia. I can’t make him want me. I already offered and he said yes, but if he’s changed his mind-“  
  
She waved a hand. “Never mind. I’ll take care of it. I need some time alone ok?”  
  
He nodded once and slid out of the bathroom.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
He found Sam at the tree line, hazel eyes scanning through the reds and browns to find something Dean couldn’t see. He stood silently beside the younger man and waited. Dean was good at waiting. He didn’t like it, but he’d had a lifetime of training to deal with it. Eventually Sam glanced his way and then back out to the forest. “She’s not ok.”  
  
“She’s not supposed to be. Neither are you really. It was a close thing.” Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and considered all his options. This thing with Sam, this weird and irrational thing, could just be let go. He wasn’t so attached he couldn’t walk away. At least he didn’t think he was. The question was if it was worth chasing after, and Dean just wasn’t sure. He could be an emergency contact instead of whatever they were heading towards.  
  
“I didn’t get kidnapped and tortured. I should be fine. I should be there for her. She was there for me.” Sam leaned heavily on his good leg and Dean wished like hell the kid would sit down somewhere and give the bad one a damn rest. It wouldn’t heal this way.  
  
“Ok.” He waited a little longer, and when he was almost ready to give up Sam turned his way.  
  
“You shouldn’t come back.” There it was. The brush-off, the end, the kiss goodbye. _Just a hot piece of ass indeed_. Dean felt along the empty lining of his pockets and wondered how long it would take to find new boots he liked as much as these.  
  
“Ok.” He turned and walked back into the house. He was stuck here until the curse was lifted. She was making good progress. The lines had already started fading and retracting. A few more weeks and he'd be gone.

He’d have to make do. Dean was good at making do.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam held perfectly still for a long time, until his good leg was aching almost as much as his bad one, and then headed inside. He could do this. He had to do this. There were no other options. He found Ophelia sitting in his room headphones on and eyes closed tight. He watched her for several long moments, watched the way her mouth twitched and her hands moved as she worked to regain her self-control. The top she’d chosen exposed one bandage, covering a superficial cut on her collarbone, and he studied it until he felt he could talk to her.  
  
Sam sat on the bed beside her, slid back to prop himself against the wall like she was, and then gently touched her forearm right above her raw wrist. She opened one eye slowly and took him in with a sideways glance. Her pierced eyebrow raised and he gestured for her to take the headphones off. He was honestly surprised she did.  
  
“I don't know what I did this morning, but I'm sorry.” She nodded once and then closed the eye. "If I'm being too pushy it's because I'm worried.”  
  
She spoke softly. “Is that what I was angry about?” She sounded vague, far away, and he realized she was very probably stoned and very exhausted. He touched her knee once, and when she didn’t pull away he left his hand there and stayed as close as he could get.  
  
“I thought it was. Wasn’t it?”  
  
“I've always thought you were brilliant. Anything you set your mind on ended up being your bitch. Now I’m beginning to wonder.” She gave him the ghost of a smile and then leaned against his shoulder. “I’m tired Sam.”  
  
He nodded once and stroked her hair, settling his arm around her shoulders afterwards and relaxing when she leaned into him. “What am I missing big sis?”  
  
“The forest.” He heard her inhale deeply and then she tilted her face until it was buried into his chest, her voice coming muffled and slow. “Dean shot him. Which was pretty fucking epic.”  
  
“Yeah it was.” Vicious, hateful, blood-thirsty joy. If there was a way Sam would go back in time and kill the bastard again. As many times as he could. “What am I missing?”  
  
She took another deep breath he could feel through the fabric of his shirt and then let it out. “Dean. What are you doing? I’m supposed to worry about him hurting you. Not the other way ‘round.”  
  
Sam stroked her shoulder. “I already told him. He didn’t seem hurt.” He looked through the window at the Impala sitting in the sunshine of the yard and holding the promise of departure as surely as any movie plane ever did.  
  
“Yeah. ‘Cause everybody you know is so open about their fucking feelings.” Sarcasm. Sam chuckled once and then closed his eyes. He didn’t feel very mirthful.  
  
“I think you’re underestimating his ability to let go of potential flings.”  
  
“ _I think_ you’re underestimating him. I don’t think he’d judge you that harshly for what happened Sam.”  
  
What happened. What did she know about what happened? Half the story and nothing else. Nothing Sam hadn’t told her, nothing he hadn’t let her see, and certainly not the worst parts. The parts that had blood and guts spattered across them like the movies she sometimes watched and mocked. She called it goreporn, but Sam called it memories. “Yeah? You think I can just say all of that and it’ll be cool with him? ‘Hey Dean, I’d love to hook up but first let me tell you I used to let this guy beat me for fun. I used to take this drug, this crazy drug, and sometimes I’d hurt people with him and then he’d get off on it. You’re cool with that right?’”  
  
Her fingers stumbled over his shirt and squeezed the fabric once tightly. “Add the part where you didn’t take it on purpose 'til after he’d gotten you hooked. Slipped it to you. Add the part where he found you when you were at your lowest. Don’t forget to mention that when you told him no more he tried to kill you.” Her fingers released his shirt and she pulled back just enough to look up at him.  Sam fought to keep her gaze.  
  
“Ope, he’s a goddamn hero. Not just this once but all his life. He goes around saving people from people like me.” At her warning glare he modified it without meaning it. “Who I was. It doesn’t matter. That’s not the kind of thing guys like him shrug off. It would be like a firefighter dating a reformed firebug.”  
  
She shrugged. “Probably not unheard of. At least give him a damn chance Sam. Something.”

“Why does this matter so much? There will be other people I’m interested in.” Her eyes flittered away and Sam saw the beginning of a conversational path he wasn’t going to like. “What’s going on in that head of yours Ophelia?”  
  
“I’m not…Sam I could have died. You’re a tough nut honey. You need someone who will be willing to stand up to you, take care of you, but mostly protect you.” He started to speak and she held up one hand from her awkward position lying against him. “You need someone who’s willing to be vicious when you’re not. So you don’t have to be anymore. You’ve earned that. I don’t think there’s gonna be someone else as qualified as him. We both know I can't promise to stick around.”  
  
Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. “What are you suggesting? I go back and say never mind? Come back whenever? I’m pretty sure I burned that bridge.”  
  
She signed once and then lay fully against him again, her body thrumming with tension and then going slack. He heard a mumbled, “You could try.”  
  
He waited until he was sure she was asleep and then maneuvered her into the bed properly before taking a position at the computer and working on papers. He couldn’t ignore the world forever.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
When Sam finished the next to last of his work the sun was starting to go down and Ophelia was still asleep. He took off his headset and heard the TV out in the living room. Dinner. Sam’s stomach grumbled loudly and he limped his way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, past Dean watching the tube, and started shuffling through ingredients until he found hamburger meat and a taco kit. He was partway through the process of cooking the meat, his hands moving mechanically to chop tomatoes, when Dean came into the kitchen and stood across from him at the counter. “Need any help?”  
  
He glanced up once, looked back down and shook his head. Talking would be pointless, and possibly messy, and Sam couldn’t handle any more emotion right now. More importantly Sam couldn’t look at those lips, that jaw, the stubble and strong lines a tad too much to consider right now. He finished the tomato and started to chop the green onion, his hands sure and steady even as Dean continued to stand there and stare at him.  
  
After the cutting was done Sam turned his back on Dean, drained the meat and added the mix, and then dropped it on the burner on low before opening a can of refried beans. Dean was still standing there, staring at him, and Sam was beginning to shake slightly as he went through the motions. When he couldn’t take it anymore, the pressure of Dean’s stare and his silence, Sam turned around and met the green eyes. “Can I help you?”  
  
Dean tilted his head once, lips quirked in a half-smile and an eyebrow raised. “Can you?”  
  
They stood there like that for what felt like forever, and then Sam turned back around and started dropping tortillas on the rack in the oven and stirring the meat and the beans. “No. I can’t.” Sam’s voice sounded bleak even to himself. He heard footsteps and looked up to see Dean standing at the fridge now, face serious and intense.  
  
“I don’t kill people Sam. Is that the problem?”  
  
Sam shook his head and looked back down at the food on the stove. It was basically done. Someone needed to wake Ophelia up. Had she eaten since the day she was taken? Someone needed to set the table and get her. He pointed to the fridge. “Will you get the sour cream out?” He kept his eyes downcast, slid past Dean’s heat, and stumped to the back bedroom. Ope was sleeping still, and Sam hesitated before he woke her up. “Hey, dinner’s ready.”

She smiled blearily, “Now that’s a good way to wake up.” He helped her out of the bed and then down the hall, her feet unsteady and stumbling. She plopped into a seat and Sam started for the stove until Dean’s voice came, harsh and thick, to say he had it.  
  
Sam sat beside Ophelia, and watched as the hunter set the table and put out the food. There was the sound of a chair scraping the floor and suddenly strong hands were lifting Sam’s leg and elevating it, an ice pack placed on his knee, and then Dean was across the table and serving himself a giant heaping of taco meat.

Dinner was silent for the most part, Sam kept glancing over to see Ophelia falling asleep, nudging her back to reality, and then doing it all over again after a short while. At one point she tried talking, absorbed the atmosphere of the table, and then gave up.  
  
It was when her fork clattered to her plate and Sam turned to find her with her head hung low that Dean threw his hands up. “Oh for god’s sake.” He moved over to sit beside her and shook her gently until glazed blue eyes opened and focused on him. “You eat before you got high?” She shook her head once. “Ok. I’m going to sit right here and poke you 'til you finish your meal. Then you’re going back to bed. Got me?” She nodded once and then picked up her taco with boneless looking fingers and slowly ate. She left the fork and the beans she’d put on the side alone, ate the taco with grim determination, and then let out a half-protesting squeak when Dean picked her up and disappeared.  
  
It didn't take long for him to come back and drop down in front of his own plate. Sam sat as still as possible, hunching his shoulders in a bit and hoping Dean wouldn’t revisit the earlier conversation. He powered his way through the last taco on his plate, dropped the dish in the sink and considered doing them before he felt Dean’s heat behind him again. He hadn’t heard the guy get up, hadn’t heard him cross the kitchen, and Sam felt that old fear start to rear up. He held as still as he could. Wasn’t that what prey did?  
  
The voice rumbled low and close to his ear. “I would never purposefully hurt you.” _Purposefully_. It was a conditional word, an up-front apology about pain that would assuredly be involved, and Sam was trembling as he turned with his head down and tried to find a path of escape that wouldn’t include touching that hard body. Dean stood in his way for several long seconds, and then stepped to the side just slightly and let Sam pass.  
  
He limped his way to the living room, spied Ophelia sleeping there propped against pillows, and then moved on to his own room. He needed to do laundry, he needed to finish that last paper, he had a reading assignment, and certification studying, and all sorts of things that didn’t include thinking of Dean, or of Sam’s half-erection. He sorted through laundry, adding Ope’s to his own, and then limped his way down the stairs carefully past a sleeping Ophelia. He didn’t see Dean anywhere.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
He heard the kid making his slow and unstable way down the stairs and almost cursed aloud. Did the guy want his knee to get worse instead of better? He waited in the kitchen, his hands clenched and his head half-down, as he considered his next plan of action. He was interested in Sam, in more than just the prospect of sleeping with Sam, and that offered Dean an unknown world of possibilities. He didn’t know how to start a relationship, he’d seen it in movies but it wasn’t really something he had a lot of experience with.  
  
He was working blind, a vague understanding of what was bothering Sam and no clear plan for how to get Sam to open up to him. He’d need the guy to admit what was bothering him so Dean could assure him it wasn’t an issue. Whatever it was Sam had done in the past was just that, _the past_ , and Dean doubted it was as bad as Sam thought it was.  More importantly Sam could claim it had nothing to do with watching Dean gank the Shifter all day long, but Dean had seen the way the kid trembled when he came up behind him. The way his hair hung in his eyes, as if it was Sam’s neon sign stating that he had closed up shop.  
  
It frustrated him, made him angry, and then made him guilty because he was scaring Sam and he knew the guy had issues, a lot of issues, and Dean was only prodding them by pursuing his interests. Still, if he could just understand he would be able to step back and better study the whole thing, decide what the best course was, and he needed information for that. Information Ophelia couldn’t give him.  
  
So Dean pulled himself fully upright, crossed the kitchen and went down the stairs and through the series of doors leading to the laundry room. He found Sam there with his head hung and his huge hands sifting through dirty laundry and dropping it in the washer. First thing was to figure out what Sam was afraid of, so Dean grabbed his shoulder even as he was just starting to look up and pushed, pinning Sam into the wall beside the washer and being very careful to avoid moving him too much on the swollen knee.  
  
Sam gasped, eyes flying upwards and full of fear, and Dean had half a second to reconsider this plan of action before his lips were moving and he was kissing Sam again.  
  
The younger man tasted brilliant and Dean was pleased that the plush lips responded almost instantly to his own. He slanted his mouth over Sam’s and reached down with one hand, grasping Sam’s wrist and pressing two fingers against his radial artery. He pulled back enough to look at Sam’s eyes and then spoke, husky and lust-filled voice kept low and soothing. “I won’t hurt you but I can. Is that what scares you?”  
  
Sam’s pulse raced ahead for a second and Dean nodded and spoke again before Sam could try to lie. “That then. Something else Sammy? What’s on your mind?” He brushed his lips once against Sam’s, watched the man’s lids lower to shield his eyes, and then stayed in Sam’s space sharing his air while he waited.  
  
“You don’t know me.” Sam’s voice, usually soft and quiet, was almost inaudible. Full of shame and pain and Dean fought the urge to shut him up with his mouth again. Kept his fingers on the speedy pulse point and waited. “I’ve done…I’m not a good person. _You are_. It wouldn’t work.”  
  
Dean lifted one eyebrow and held it there 'til Sam looked at him. That was the problem? The man thought he wasn’t good enough for Dean? Well that was a first, and ironic, and Dean couldn’t phrase any of that because it really hit him that for the first time in his life someone thought he was better than them. Sam, handsome, smart, strong Sam thought Dean was too good for him. He would have laughed if he didn’t think it would send Sam running.  
  
“I’m gonna tell you something Sam and I want you to listen real close ok? Anything you did with Brady was what you did with Brady. It was under duress, it wasn’t your fault, and I don’t give a shit about it. You ever want to confess I’m here, but in the meantime you let me decide what is or isn’t good for me.” He went for more than a brush this time, eating away at Sam’s mouth for several long minutes 'til his own pulse was quick and hard. “Secondly I’m not a nice man, I’m not some comic book superhero, and thinking I am will only bring you grief. Being one of the good guys doesn’t make me a _good guy_. Get it?” Sam nodded once and then leaned forward taking Dean’s mouth this time. They stayed there like that, Dean’s fingers holding Sam’s pulse and feeling it stutter and fly while he tasted Sam and Sam tasted him.  
  
When he needed air, needed to think, Dean pulled back and watched Sam’s eyes open, pupils so large it was almost overwhelming, and then he released Sam and stepped back. His voice was a growl when it came. “Give me back my goddamn invitation.”  
  
Sam showed confusion, then understanding, and then amusement. “Come back anytime you want Dean.”  
  
He stepped backwards, watched Sam for another few seconds, and then stalked his way through the basement and up the stairs. He had a hard-on to deal with.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
It took Sam at least fifteen minutes to remember how to breathe properly and move around like a functioning human being. He pushed it all down enough to finish dropping laundry into the washer and then sat down and hung his head between his knees taking deep breaths and thinking. Ope was right, and he was wrong, and that seemed to be the theme of their friendship. _Damn it_. Dean had this way of making Sam feel crazy, out of control, and this was a terrible idea because Dean could assure him all he wanted when he didn’t know the truth. Sam waited there on the floor of the basement washroom until the washer finished, moved their clothes to the dryer, and then sat back down.  
  
It wasn’t like kissing Brady, didn’t even compare, because Dean was so hot, so passionate, so incredibly-

Brady had always run cold the way Sam had started to, but Dean was like a furnace. If Sam wanted to be ridiculous and girly he would suggest that Dean could be hot enough to burn him, to purify him, but Sam was long past believing such a thing was possible. Dean would get tired of it, of Sam’s inability to be functional and all his baggage, and then Dean would just stop coming but maybe that was ok. Maybe the ride would be worth the crash.  
  
When Sam finally came back up the stairs Dean was in the living room, but Ophelia was gone. He walked past silently, his eyes meeting Dean’s once and glancing away when Dean smiled, and then he was through the other door and on his way to the bedroom. He found Ophelia in the bed already, curled up with his pillow and snoring lightly. He dropped the laundry basket, changed into sweats, and then slid in behind her and pulled her close. He was tempted to wake her up, tell her it was as fixed as it could be, and then let that go. She’d wake up eventually and he’d tell her then.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Sam woke to Ophelia jerking in her sleep, nightmares so uncommon for her that Sam was momentarily paralyzed with confusion, and then he was stroking her hair and murmuring in her ear until she woke up. Sleepy eyes stared at him speculatively, and then she spoke slow and thick. “I was dreaming.”  
  
He nodded once and then kissed her forehead tenderly. “Bad dream Ope. I got you.”  
  
“You smell like Dean. I was fucking dreaming.” Sam laughed softly and hugged her. “Sam I’m starving.”  
  
It wasn’t even morning technically, the sun still hiding and the woods outside silent, but Sam got up and she went into the kitchen with him. He heated up leftover potato soup and a hunk of bread, and then watched her eat with slow determination.  
  
“You feeling better today?” She nodded once and then swallowed her mouthful of soup and looked up at him with a wicked grin.  
  
“You made out with Dean. I can see it all over your face. Tell me the truth Sammy.”  
  
“A gentleman never tells and a lady never asks.” He laughed at the sour face she made and then leaned back in the chair. “It’s not gonna end well Ope. You and I both know that. One or the other of us will give up. Still, maybe you’re right, maybe I’m missing the forest for the trees.”  
  
She nodded once and then sifted through her pockets and found her cigarettes. “I am always right. It’s my curse.” Her eyes shuttered briefly, something flying through her brain at high speed and then disappearing like a cloud across the sun. Sam let her keep it quiet, simply watched her and waited. “He’s got a great ass.”  
  
“Yes I do.” The voice was amused, and Sam watched Ophelia jump half a foot before grasping her side. Dean’s grin became concern, and Sam leaned forward towards her but she waved them both away. He saw her fingering under the shirt and feeling at her stitches.  
  
“I’m fine. Your ass could use some humility.” She gave Dean a mock glare, received laughter for it, and leaned back in her chair.  
  
Dean started brewing coffee and Sam watched his callused and scarred hands work. “Hey Ope, what are we doing today? Tommy dropped your car off.”  
  
She considered his knee for a long moment, Sam saw her face flash tender and then smooth out, and she smiled sadly. “You’re keeping Dean company and I’m riding to Augusta.”  
  
Sam held his breath for a moment and thought about that. He saw Dean’s hands stutter and then resume their work. “Augusta? Why?”  
  
She shrugged, realized Dean couldn’t see it with his back to her and responded. “Maine General Hospital. My specialist is there.” She swallowed the last of the soup and took the bowl to the sink, started washing the dishes from the night before and kept her eyes on that.  
  
“We gonna have a session first?” Dean gave her a tight smile and sat down with a mug of coffee. “If you're up to it.”  
  
Somehow Sam had lost whatever the conversation had become. "I'm up to it. Let me change first."  
  
Dean chews on that, raises an eyebrow, and then rubs his mouth. “Ok. Well Sam and I will hold down the fort. Any chores you need done?”  
  
“The lawn needs mowing.” She sat across from Dean and stared out the windows behind him. “There’s a riding mower in the garage.”  

 

  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
After she was done Dean watched her slide the robe off and light the joint. Her hand shook more than the last few times, and he wondered if he'd pushed her too far. He considered his shirt and then changed his mind and simply sank down into the floorboards. It was warm enough in here he didn't need it.

"How you feeling?"

She grinned around a mouthful of smoke and closed her eyes. "Peachy fucking keen. You?"

"Tired. So this specialist-" She held up a hand and he stopped.

"You stitched my tit up last night Dean. That's enough bonding for a month or two I think." He couldn't suppress the laughter that bubbled up, and she smiled appreciatively.

"Well, they're nice breasts. It'd be a shame to waste them." Dean can see from her face she gets the reference, and she sticks her tongue out at him. Which is when his amusement dies. What should be slick pink muscle has a heavy ring of scars at the end. She seems to realize why he's not laughing anymore, and it disappears from sight.

"Anyway, I'll be gone most of the day, so you and Sam should take advantage of that. Bond a little yourselves." She squinted at the ceiling and took a long drag from the joint. "Minus the tit stitching."

"Yeah. Minus that. When do you think you'll be back?"

She frowned thoughtfully, and then her head tilted to the side. "You hear that?"

At first he doesn't, and then the echoing rumble comes to him. She's up in a second, feet only slipping a bit as she moves for the window and Dean follows. "Who is it?"

"No one I know." Ophelia pushes past him and kneels on the floor, reaching under the cabinet with her ritual oils. Dean hears the distinct ripping of velcro and then she's throwing him a shotgun he catches one-handed. He breaks the stock and checks the rounds to find salt before looking up to see her chambering a round in a handgun.

"Worried?"

"Very." She's barefoot as she descends the stairs, and they stop at the door. "Tree line to willow, willow to-"

"Garage. You go through to the kitchen stairs and I'll take the basement ones." She nods tightly and then they're moving low to the ground and fast. Dean thinks of Sam inside. Hopes that the guy is so shaken from the other night that he won't come to the door for a stranger. Hopes that this is something that can't cross the salt or the devil's traps. They part without a word in the garage, and she makes her way through to the back of the house. Dean takes the stairs as quietly as he can and reaches the door to the living room.

He listens, but there's nothing coming from the other side of the door. All he can think is _Sam_ , set to the same rapid and staccato beat as his heart.  
  
  
  
\----

 

"And I thought you were breath-taking on the computer screen."

Sam's standing behind Loki and staring at Ophelia in the kitchen doorway. She's a tight line, and she has a handgun he's never seen before pointed at the hacker's head. He understands it, because the man standing there shouldn't be there. There's no good explanation for why he's there. After the last few days it's no wonder her nerves are shot. Then again, _it's Loki_. He's shorter than Sam imagined in person, and while he still has at least five inches on Ope, Sam has to look down to meet Loki's bright and open gaze. The smile never even vaguely falters despite the awkwardness of them standing there simply staring at him. Ophelia finally breaks the silence.

"What. The. Fuck. Loki." Her finger shakes briefly on the trigger, and the she's releasing it and lowering the gun. It occurs to Sam that Ope is nervous, and that's a new one on him. He hears a breath behind him, and then realizes Dean is right there. A heavy hand brushes his lower back, and Sam is inordinately relaxed by that.

"What's happening?" Dean's voice is deceptively calm, but Sam hears the readiness there. A breath later he's tense again when he sees the shotgun in Dean's hand.

"I came to visit! You must be Dean Winchester. I got a folder on you this thick." Loki gestures with his hands and then raises an eyebrow. "You guys gonna put the guns away? It was a long damn flight."

"What the fuck." But Ope's stepping back and putting the gun down on the china cabinet. Dean leans the shotgun against the door into the living room. Loki grins and leans against the kitchen table.

"Dearest I saw the trouble that came to you and thought I'd be your knight in shining armor. Hammy can't be expected to save you _all_ the time. So here I am to sweep you up and carry you to the safety of your bed. Which room is yours?"

Ope's eyes meet his, and he sees the war going on there before he pulls himself fully upright. He can do this. He can.

"You get the guest room Loki. You can store your stuff there." He was kind of surprised when the guy didn't argue with him at all. He led Loki through the house and gave the short tour heading for the guest room. They stopped in the doorway and Loki's eyes roved over the space and then into the open door of Sam's room.

"So this is how the other half lives. Nice. You got your real set-up in the basement I guess?"

"Easier on the CPUs to be somewhere cool. What the hell are you doing here?"

Amber eyes landed on his face and looked more than a little amused. "I was worried about you and Ophelia. You never called me back, and then I read the info on your new friend out there. Figured an extra pair of hands couldn't hurt right? Plus I've always wanted to visit you, so now I got an excuse." Loki's smile was brighter in person, and Sam wanted to be angry but he felt the tug of his own lips curling upwards in response.

"You realize she's furious right? And I'm sure you know by now my real name is Sam."

"Yeah, but I'll win her over the same way I did you. Trust me Sasquatch. I'm irresistible."

Which was why five minutes later Sam was laughing so hard his eyes were tearing up while he watched Ope push Loki backwards, his fingers twisted towards the back of his hand.

"Touch my ass again and I break your fucking fingers Loki. Don't think I'm joking."

"But _darling_ -getting painful here-"

"I know." Her eyes are lit up though, smile curling at the corner of her lips. "Now behave. Or else."

Dean doesn't look as amused as Sam feels, and he waits until Loki's been released before he nods at the file folder the guy pulled from his bag. "That about me?"

"Oh. Oh yeah. Wanna see the list of your crimes you vicious man?" Loki's eyes are bright again even as he rubs at his fingers and leans slightly towards Ope. Ope doesn't move away.

"Not really." Dean's face is suddenly tight and dismissive. "Ope. You have that appointment?"

Her head turns fully their way, and she takes in the way Sam's standing and then flickers her eyes over Dean. Which is when Sam realizes Dean is standing partially in front of him like he's protecting him from Loki. "Uh. Yeah. Well. That." Her eyes keep darting between the three men before she finally shrugs and points directly at Loki. "You're coming with me. I can't trust you alone near my fucking underwear drawer, and Sam's too soft-hearted to watch you properly."

Loki raises both eyebrows and then waggles them suggestively. "I thought you'd never ask. Lead me to the place in which I shall show you how a man treats a woman of your calibre."

Her jaw works several times before she covers her eyes. "I miss my fucking life."

 

 

\-----  
  
  
  
Sam listened to the jeep drive away and then considered his options. He had the rest of the week off, and only one paper to finish before Monday. If he worked on it today he’d have all that time with nothing to do. He considered the door, the taste of Dean’s mouth, and then opened his laptop and got to work.  
  
At some point while he was typing away he heard the mower start outside, and then he tuned it out to focus on the task at hand. He was halfway done when Dean stuck his head in the door. “Hey, you hungry Sam?”  
  
“Yeah let me just-” he looked up to see Dean wiping sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his shirt, exposing his abs and one pectoral. Had there have been any lingering questions in Sam’s mind regarding his ability to be sexually aroused they were vanquished heartily. Dean lowered his shirt and quirked one eyebrow.  
  
“Just?”  
  
“Just finish that sentence. In the paper. What do you want to eat?” He got up and edged past Dean through the door, heard the low chuckle behind him, ignored it pointedly.

 

 

\----

 

 

Ophelia wasn't sure how things had gotten so out of control so quickly. Sure, she'd planned for some of this shit, but Loki showing up was so left field she couldn't even begin to grasp it properly. Instead she simply rode along with it and pretended there wasn't an issue. Oh what's that? A stranger shows up just after she's nabbed and tortured like some Hollywood bottle blonde? _Hah! Of course!_

How he talked the nurse and the specialist into letting him into the room is beyond her. Now he's sucking on a lollipop as he watches the doctor stare in horror at the lines of stitches covering her body. She's not concerned about Loki seeing her in nothing but her underwear. She's concerned about how _unconcerned_ she is.

"Did they catch the man that did this?" Ope tears her gaze away from Loki and focuses on the older man in front of her as he fingers one of the lines of stitches carefully.

"Oh yeah. On the scene. So no internal damage right?" The doctor shudders once at how casual she sounds, and she wonders again at the difference between book knowledge and real world knowledge. It's always disconcerting for people to be faced with her deficiency. She knows from personal experience they think she's inhuman sometimes.

"No. You got lucky. We need to talk about your right knee, but otherwise you're doing alright. How is the medication working?"

Loki's finished the lollipop and produced some other sugary concoction. He raises an eyebrow again at her and she frowns once to inform him she has no interest in what he's selling. Which is when the question hits her and the vein at her temple starts to throb. "I got carved up like a turkey and I'm asking you about internal damage doc. Do you think it's working?"

He nods once, probably pleased she didn't curse at him this time like normal, and then he pops the xray into the light bright on his wall and starts droning on about possible treatments, more pills, and a permanent brace. Ophelia tunes out and starts to order things in her head. If she gives them the rest of the day that should be long enough for what little resistance Dean has left to simply melt away. She has faith in Sam's natural charm. She has faith in a lot of things.

The shifter re-ordered a few of her priorities. She thought, honestly, that there'd be more time. Thirty was the alarm clock they gave her as a kid, and that's still five years away. She had planned to have Sam better by now. Able to make lasting relationships and able to… Well she'd expected to have gotten further. At least a little bit. But his only friend outside of her was still Loki, and while his graduation was looming on the horizon he had no idea what he really wanted to do with himself. Sam would go nuts if he spent all his days in some lousy IT department being ordered to fix printers and explain blue screens. Jeff and she had agreed Sam would get the house, but she couldn't leave him enough money to not worry about his future.

Somehow she found herself sitting in the Jeep with Loki beside her. Her wristwatch told her she'd been staring at the wall of the parking garage for an hour. "Why didn't you tell me to move my ass?"

He tilted his head and smirked. "I was having too much fun staring at it. I didn't know you were sick Opey. What do you have?"

She fingered the steering wheel and considered. A lot of people were asking her that question recently. "A terminal case of not giving a fuck. We're gonna hit a bar."


	9. Chapter 9

Lunch is oddly relaxed. Sam honestly expected it to be awkward, the tension of whatever it was building between them handicapping any chance at conversation. Instead Dean chats amiably about movies, the guy has seen almost every one Sam can think of, and music. They get into a heated argument about the value of anything made after the 80’s, and anything that doesn’t fall into the rock genre. The conversation runs long, takes all of Sam’s attention, and when he looks up the sun is setting and Ophelia and Loki still aren’t home. Sam rubs his neck for a second and looks around the kitchen.

  
“It’s not that I don’t like Metallica I just don’t know much about them. All my music knowledge comes from Ope and she’s not a fan.”  
  
Dean shook his head sadly. “I liked the girl right until then. Didn’t you listen to music when you were a kid? MTV or VH1? _Anything_?”  
  
Sam has to think about it for a long stretch, his fingers tapping idly on the wood of the table. “The Hendersons, or Jeffersons, I forget which. Fifth foster family. They were really big into gospel, but I never cared for it.” He shrugged, shooting for casual and landing more in resigned. “Otherwise not so much. Did you grow up around a lot of music?”  
  
Dean’s face turns dreamy and reminiscent for a moment. It was a good look on him. “My dad played music all the time. We traveled a lot, perk of the job, and there was always something on the radio. I have this box of old tapes I got from him that I’ve almost played out.”  
  
Sam grinned. “Your dad sounds like an interesting guy. You must love him a lot.”  
  
There’s trouble in Dean’s expression, a confusion of things that Sam can’t fully interpret, and then it turns into a grin. “Yeah. He’s strict but he’s a good guy. Taught me everything I know.” Dean tapped near Sam’s fingers firmly and held his gaze. “How’d you end up in foster care?”  
  
Sam has to look away from that, his hair sliding into place over his eyes without trying for it. “My parents left me on the steps of a hospital. Wrapped in a blanket with a note that said ‘Sam’. You know, classic Dickens plot.” He tries for casual again and knows from the way Dean’s fingers knock his softly that he fails just like before.  
  
“Sound like assholes. You’re better off here.” Dean’s voice carries a note of anger and Sam looks up to see that his jaw is tight and working. It’s a look that would have scared the piss out of Sam just a few days before, still intimidates him a bit, but he likes seeing it right now. Likes that Dean thinks he shouldn’t be disposable.  
  
“Yeah. Ophelia was sort of the turning point for everything. Before that it was just me getting handed off from place to place. She’s the only person who’s ever wanted to keep me.” He felt that light bump again, but Dean’s eyes were focused on something else, something Sam couldn’t see.  
  
“You’re a good kid despite all that though. So they must’ve done something right.” Something off about the tone, not quite there and Sam answers without thinking, too busy interpreting and translating the sound of Dean’s voice.  
  
“No I was a horror when Ope met me. Between Brady and the drug I-“ He cuts himself off, realizing too late he’s misread the whole thing. Dean’s casual circling of the topic, the tone distracting, and the gaze just off enough to not be pressuring. His suspicions are confirmed when Dean’s eyes narrow down and focus on him.  
  
“I see. I had my hell-raising days too.” He’s waiting for Sam to jump in, to clarify and explain, but Sam stands and crosses the kitchen in a slow hopping step. He digs through the fridge for several silent minutes and manages to find enough tinfoil wrapped food to make for a real dinner.  
  
“You want grill night leftovers, soup, or lasagna?” He doesn’t turn around when he feels Dean behind him, focuses on the wrapped packages, and feels the hand on his back before he gives up and addresses the problem. “I made a lot of mistakes. Brady was…I believed he wanted me and that’s all I wanted at the time. I felt so _alive_ with him, so powerful, and when I realized he was drugging me I was already addicted. Ophelia helped me detox. It almost killed me. Shit it almost killed _her_.”  
  
Sam could remember it all vividly, every hellish minute of it, and he felt the cold sweat as the old terror clawed at the back of his brain. By the end of it Sam had wanted nothing more than death. He could still hazily recall the smell of copper filled water and Ophelia's wails of anguish. He pulled grill food out of the fridge blindly and dropped it on the counter, moving as far from Dean as he could get before he had something to use as an excuse. He pulled plates from the cabinet, dropping cold burgers on them and sprinkling them with water before putting them in the microwave. Dean stayed silently standing at the fridge, and Sam could have cried with relief when the door swung open and Ophelia entered followed by Loki. Her head was up and Sam watched her stumble her way into the kitchen before Loki pulled a chair out for her. The hacker sprawled out in a chair beside her and put his feet in her lap.

"Oh Sammy, you didn't mention the love of my life was a lush." Ope punched his shoulder and he laughed wildly.  
  
Sam left the microwave alone, sliding past Dean and into the main floor of the room before he took a seat next to her and touched her shoulder. When she looked up there was a glassy haze in her eyes. “I won sixty bucks. Candle game.” She put her face down on his hand and took a deep breath. “You have a good time?”  
  
“Yeah Ope. Fine time. Wanna go to bed?” He found the hand she usually used, studied the flesh and saw no permanent damage.  
  
She shakes her head once and leans back in the chair wearily. “Eat your dinner Sammy. I’ll go after that.”  
  
The plate arrives out of nowhere, burger fixed the way he fixed it last time, and damn if that means Dean didn’t watch his every move. He’s impressed, touched, _scared_ at the thought of someone other than the tiny lady in front of him taking in so many personal details. He mutters a thanks and eats quickly so that he can get her to bed and avoid further talking with Dean. He’s had enough for one day, and honestly he could do without more revelations.  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
Dean watches Sam watching her. She’s basically fallen asleep in the chair and he’s not surprised. The process of shock and acceptance after a run-in like hers is long and she’s dealing with it in a classic hunter fashion. Which means not at all. Sam on the other hand…  
  
The guy went bone white when he gave himself away, and more importantly he knew the instant Dean did it what he was up to. It was an old trick, one he’d cobbled together from his father’s many approaches, and it always worked. Take the victim out of their concern for their secret by making them worry about what you’re thinking. They look left and you go right. It’s a con and Dean’s perfected it. His brain is running through drugs trying to figure out what the bastard must have been dosing Sam with.  
  
It makes sense though. Dean may not have known Sam long but the guy is as gentle as they come and the only thing that could make him different would be some sort of chemical alteration. It explains his willingness to let himself be hurt that much too. Dean’s inordinately grateful to Ophelia, wants to take her outside and hug her breathless, thank her, and instead he sits still and watches. He’ll have time to get her alone and handle that part. Now he has to find a way to assure Sam that he doesn’t think less of him for all of it. Really the kid is too damn hard on himself. But what drug?  
  
Nothing so mundane as pot, nothing psychedelic, had to be PCP or something along those lines. Something that promotes violence, that feeling Sam described of power, something completely crippling. It’s amazing that there aren’t signs of it in Sam’s face, a year of hard-core use is usually more visible. There should be lines or…  
  
His train of thought is interrupted by Ophelia’s hand dropping from under her chin and almost striking the table. Sam catches it at the last second, reflexes lightning fast, and Dean has time to admire it before Sam stands and pulls her up easily. She hangs in his arms, eyes wide and confused before focusing on the man holding her. “’M sorry. Sorry guys.” Sam’s carrying her out before Dean can respond, holding her like a child as he takes her to bed without a word.  
  
Loki watches the whole scene with amber eyes and then stands and stretches. "Well I believe I'll be heading to bed. Night Dean-o." He manages not to growl.

Dialing Bobby is almost second nature. _“Your dad called me.”_  
  
Dean felt himself go cold and hot at the same time, fists clenching and jaw grinding before he got control over it. “Did he?”  
  
 _“Yeah. Wanted to know where I took you and what was going on. I left out the part about the Shifter. He told me to tell you to take another week, but I don't think that's for the best boy. You ain't at a hundred percent yet. Said he’d contact you then with details.”_ Bobby's voice was careful, slow, as if he was afraid Dean would explode if he shook him up.  
  
He wasn’t necessarily wrong. John Winchester tested his patience more than he could stand some days and this was one of them. After all those times he tried to contact him, his dad calls Bobby to tell Dean what to do. There are times, horrible times, when Dean’s admiration for his dad is overcome with his belief that he’s nothing but a soldier in John’s army. The loss of his brother has always weighed heavily on his father, and Dean knows that he’s not blameless in his dad’s eyes. Sam was his to protect, his since the day he was born and mom told him so, and Dean failed at his one damn job. He’s been living that moment down every day since then.  
  
His mind wandered, landed on the Sam inside briefly before coming back to Bobby. He needs to say something. Something to indicate he gets it, or that he's ok, or _something_. Bobby's always been considerate of him despite the gruffness.  
  
“It's ok Bobby. That's dad. I'll ask Ophelia for a timeline.” Dean wonders what it’s like to have a grave to visit, a place to remember your dead loved one by. He hasn’t been back to Lawrence since the night of the fire, at least not long enough to visit his mother’s headstone, but he has passed through that terrible little town Sam died in.  He’s seen the remains of the abandoned house they’d been squatting in. There was a healing process, Dean knew that, but did you need that sort of physical monument to start it? Something to pin the memories to so that they didn't haunt you? They hung up shortly afterwards.  
  
He stared at the night for a while, eyes moving out of habit over the tree line and through the dim woods before returning to the house. Dean went back inside quietly. Sam was coming out of the bathroom, a slightly damp and entirely drunk Ophelia hanging off of him, and Dean nodded at him once before stepping into her room and closing the door. He picked up the demon history she’d given him, flipped through it fruitlessly, and then closed the heavy book and put it aside. Too much input, too many things to think about, and Dean fell asleep watching the stars on the ceiling and running through the day’s events.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
Sam wakes suddenly, brain in high gear and his heart in his throat, and rolls out of the bed. He didn’t hear any sounds, so he padded out into the hallway and peeked into both of the other bedrooms. In Loki's he saw the lump of hacker under the covers, in Ophelia’s he saw Dean stretched on his back with one arm held out across the mattress.  
  
He made his way out through the kitchen and onto the porch to find her wrapped in a comforter on the bench staring out at the tree line. She held the comforter open silently and he joined her. She pulled up close to him, sharing her warmth and tapping the cigarette smoldering in between her knuckles. “Morning Sam.”  
  
“Morning Ope. Bad dreams again?”  
  
She shook her head and smiled softly. “Just wanted to see the sunrise. Was gonna come back to bed afterwards.”  
  
Sam stroked her forearm for a second, felt the scabs covering her wrists, blinked several times sleepily and then settled back. “I told him some of it. He tricked it out of me.” At her raised eyebrow he bit his lip gently and considered. “He’s good at that apparently. Probably a talent he picked up questioning people.”  
  
She nodded and then took a deep breath. “Sam. Are you okay with all this? With everything being real?”  
  
He blinked several times as he considered it. Everything? Well he didn’t know if it was everything, but it was obviously a lot of things. Sam would like to tell her no, that it was surprising and disturbing to know there were things that lived in the dark and would love to kill them slow. Except Sam had already known, known and never warned her because it was too close to what happened back then. Which was ok, because she'd known too apparently.  
  
Monsters being real wasn’t news to Sam anymore. He stroked her arm again and watched her out the cigarette and toss it into the bushes below with a frown. “Yeah Ope I’m fine. You wanna tell me why you never said anything?”  
  
“You just-” Ope sighed and pushed at her hair. "Fuck Sammy. You were so broken up. I just couldn't stand the idea you'd internalize that shit. Add it to the Brady thing. I wanted to protect you." She looked his way once and then back out. “I like Dean. He coming back?”  
  
“Yeah.” Sam couldn’t help the fond smile, the rush of warmth, and he tried to suppress it but eventually he just let it go. “He’s coming back. I wish you hadn't felt you needed to lie to me.”  
  
“Sorry Sammy.” They both turned their heads at the sound of shuffling, and Sam took in Dean looking half-asleep as he settled beside them wrapped in a leather jacket and staring out at the tree line silently.

“Morning Dean.”  
  
She echoed him and nudged Sam once gently. “I’m going back to bed. This is an ungodly hour. Sam share the blanket if you’re staying.” She got up and went back inside quietly.  
  
Sam opened the comforter and Dean slid off the leather jacket and then came under the edge of it. His arm touched Sam’s gently and Sam soaked in the furnace heat of him. “What woke you?”  
  
Dean considered the question, tilted his head, and then took a deep breath. “Dunno. You?”  
  
“Empty bed. Still keep thinking I’ll wake up and find out she died.” It’s easier to share this than risk Dean starting the conversation up from yesterday. He feels a shoulder nudge his and grins softly. It’s not girly, no hand holding and dreamy eyes, but it’s the kind of comforting Sam has always imagined a lover giving him.  
  
Except they’re not lovers yet, and Sam’s not sure if they ever will be. There’s chemistry, no denying that, and Sam _wants_ Dean. Wants him like he’s never wanted anyone, but there’s a lot going on and there’s not much privacy around here. These are all good reasons, reasons Sam could hold onto if he wanted, but he knows very well that at the end of the day the question is whether or not Sam can be that way again. If he can be vulnerable and open like that, hold himself together instead of coming apart, and he knows instinctively that Dean will tear him apart.  
  
The man’s too strong, too virile, and he’ll pull Sam open and look inside. What judgments he’ll make once he’s there Sam can’t say, can’t predict, and that scares him and excites him at the same time. In a way he wants it, wants to be exposed for what he really is so someone can finally tell him just how dirty he’s always been. But losing this, the easy comfort of it, is so terrifying Sam can’t consider it for longer than a second without losing his breath. It’s only been a few days and he’s so damn attached already.  
  
Attachment, Sam has learned through long years of experience, is dangerous. Attachment leads to heartbreak and Sam has had enough of that. Still he wants to try, wants to stretch out his arms and take Dean into them so he can see just how much suffering it’ll bring and how much ecstasy will lead up to that harsh slam into the ground. He wants to be Icarus, fly too close to Dean and crash into the ocean, and that’ll be fine because Sam deserves to crash and burn here. Knows it like he knows his name or the texture of his favorite flannel shirt.  
  
Dean breaks the comfortable silence with a throat clearing and then his husky voice follows it closely. “I have to leave in a week. My dad called.”  
  
Sam tilts his head. He hates the sunrise and sunset in autumn, the tress look like they’re on fire and Sam has always been afraid of fire. There’s some dim memory there, something about smoke and choking, something about safety and warmth after fear. It’s so deep Sam has never understood it, only dreamed about it when he was very young. He had a foster brother once who found out about Sam’s fear of fire and used it against him. Used to wake him up by burning the hairs on Sam’s legs and the smell would launch him out of his sleep screaming. He shakes himself and focuses on what Dean’s saying. “Ok.” _Don’t ask when he’ll be back around._ “You must be glad you’ll see him again.”  
  
Dean hesitates, voice unsure, “Yes. Course I am. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”  
  
So Dean’s going to say it and save Sam the shame of asking. He’s appreciative and quiet when he responds. “That’s ok. I’ll be here when you do.” He stands and stretches, his knee still sore but stable now, and then leaves Dean there in the comforter with the illuminated trees in his sight line.  
  
He makes waffles and bacon and when he’s finished there are three people sitting at the kitchen table almost all looking half-asleep. Loki uses the entire bottle of syrup on his. Ophelia and Dean have a competition to see who can eat the most waffles and neither of them wins so much as they end up leaning back with hands cupped over their stomachs and looks of satisfied agony. Sam’s glad to see her wolfing food down, he knows she hasn’t been eating right recently, and then he taunts them by waving bacon they can’t eat in front of them.  
  
Loki laughs several times in the course of the whole exercise, eyes catching Sam’s and twinkling in glee while he cheers one or the other on. Sam feels himself unclench, relax, as if the four of them are a little family. It’s not that he and Ophelia aren’t a strong enough unit for that feeling, so much as this is different. More whole. He keeps catching Dean’s green eyes and seeing the sparkle there, feeling the burn of affection and arousal in his belly every time.  
  
After a while Ophelia pushes herself up and grabs Loki's shoulder. “We’ve got stuff to do today. Come on.” Loki stands without asking and leaves the room while Ophelia catches Sam’s eyes. “We’re going to go hit the book sale at Mary’s. You gonna be ok?”  
  
“Of course. When will you be back?” Dean was collecting dishes, heading for the sink, and Sam bit back a joke about domesticating wild animals. Ope must have caught the sparkle of amusement in his eyes because her grin turned into a real smile.  
  
“Late. We may go to the bar. I feel like getting blasted again.” She reached up and ruffled his hair, ignoring the look he gave her, and then headed off. When they came back through the kitchen Dean was almost done with dishes and Sam watched the easy way she and Loki walked together. She let the hacker precede her out the door and turned back to catch Dean’s eyes.  
  
“Hey, Dean, quick thing.” Dean stepped out from behind the counter toweling his hands off and raised an eyebrow. “There are condoms in my nightstand, but no lube. Be good to my boy or I’ll shoot out your goddamn kneecaps.”  
  
She leaves laughing, ignoring Dean’s shock and Sam’s noises of protest. Once she’s out of sight Sam leaves his red face buried in his hands before he speaks. “She’s sort of a bitch sometimes.”  
  
There’s silence for a moment before a chair scrapes back near Sam and he hears a throat cleared. He looks up to see heat in Dean’s eyes, comparable to the older man’s skin, and he has to swallow in the path of that gaze. “You opposed to the idea of fooling around Sammy?”  
  
There’s something about the way he says the nickname, as if he both wants it and fears it, that makes Sam burn. The look isn’t helping, and Sam has never felt more pinned in place than he does right at this moment. “No.” He’s not a blushing virgin, he’s been here before. The difference is that this time he has so much more to lose. “Not at all.”  
  
Dean’s up moments later, taking Sam’s hand and pulling once before watching to see how Sam maneuvers his bad knee. Sam hears the Jeep start outside, listens to it pull off the concrete and onto the gravel drive, and then the sound is gone and they’re heading into the back and towards the bedrooms. It’s moving fast, Sam knows that logically, but everything is in slow motion. Dean leaves him for a moment and steps into Ope’s bedroom, comes back out and raises an eyebrow. It’s obvious what he’s asking, if Sam’s really down with this plan, and _god yes_ Sam is but that doesn’t mean he’s not scared.  
  
Just this morning he was thinking…and now they’re going to do it and Sam knows this could be great or it could end in catastrophe. Does it matter really? At the moment all of Sam’s thinking power is hindered by the raging hard-on he’s gained at some point in this endless walk and now they’re in Sam’s room and he’s looking around at the programming books and the empty laundry basket as if he’s never been here before. Dean’s voice comes out in a low growl. “Up to you Sam. We can do whatever you want.”  
  
 _Whatever he wants_. Sam wants a lot of things. He wants his hesitation to be innocent instead of tainted, he wants Dean inside him, or him inside Dean it doesn’t really matter, and he wants to run from the room and stay all at the same time. He’s been given a choice and he can take anything he wants, knows if he says no Dean will let it go like it never happened despite the man’s obvious arousal. It’s empowering really, and Sam moves forward on the wave of it and grabs Dean’s short hair before pulling him in for a kiss.  
  
Did he think Dean was hot before? He really is the sun and Sam almost feels the Icarus wings, the intricate pattern of wax and feathers, bolstering him through the air and into Dean’s heat. He tilts Dean’s head at the perfect angle, bends just right to get more access, and the world narrows down to this one set of lips against his and this one experience over all others. Sam lets one hand travel down the length of Dean’s bicep, realizes that Dean is holding perfectly still and letting Sam set the pace, and he takes Dean’s rough hands and places them on his hips.  
  
The fingers grip, bruising tight and then gentle to stroke the places they’ve grabbed but Sam doesn’t want Dean to hold back. Doesn’t want to be lulled into a false sense of security this time. He pulls back far enough to mutter, “Stop it. Do it right.” And Dean seems to understand. The grip intensifies again and Sam is back in Dean’s face, licking into his mouth even as he’s trying to find the buttons on Dean’s shirt. He has no idea how much experience Dean has with this sort of thing, and he doesn’t want to know. If he’s the first he’ll feel guilty, if he’s not he’ll be jealous because if Dean’s kissing is any indication of what’s in store for him? Sam’s already addicted.  
  
His own shirt is unbuttoned long before he’s found his way half up Dean’s and he pulls back and frowns at the buttons, frowns at Dean’s soft and husky laughter, and then undoes each button swiftly and surely. When it’s off Dean slides the second shirt off and Sam follows suit. For a moment they stand there, staring at each other as if they’ve never seen this before. Sam feels a brief and intense wave of uncertainty, and Dean sees it before reaching for him.  
  
Strong hands smooth over Sam’s abs, along the lines of his hipbones and up his sides before sliding to his elbows. He holds perfectly still and watches Dean’s face, sees the awe there, the lust. It’s unguarded, warm, the green eyes taking in every detail and Dean’s gaze lingers for a second on the long scar that stretches from Sam’s hip to just under his right pectoral muscle. Dean touches it once, lightly, and Sam hisses as if it still hurts. He remembers the glass and the screams…  
  
He begins touching Dean’s scars, fingers hesitant at first and then firmer. Each one is a story no doubt, a life saved, a death narrowly avoided, and it really hits Sam for the first time that Dean lives the kind of life where he could die at any time and almost no one would know he was gone. The man is a phantom, a superhero. _He’s certainly built like one_. There's an odd dark circle in the center of Dean's chest that almost looks like a tattoo, lines leading outwards from it that fade slowly into the color of his skin. If it means something Sam doesn't know what, and this is not the place to ask. Sam leans forward, impulsively, and licks at Dean’s pulse point on his neck. The moan that greets him is encouraging, and Dean’s skin tastes like nothing Sam has ever experienced.  
  
It’s a ridiculous thought, flowery and useless, because skin is just skin. Still he tastes it again, rubs the flat of his tongue over Dean’s collarbone and then kisses his way across it to the other side. His fingers work on Dean’s belt buckle with more accuracy than they had before and he gets the belt undone and off in a matter of seconds all while Dean makes those noises above him.  
  
“Sam.” And it’s that, his name in that voice, that has Sam fighting with the button and zipper on Dean’s jeans. He has them open in record time and his hand slides down and finds Dean’s cock, hard and hot, so much hotter than the rest of him it’s frightening. Dean’s gasp is worth every second of fear Sam has experienced for this moment. He hears the clatter, feels the shifting, as Dean struggles to kick off his boots. Sam follows suit, losing his sneakers in record time even as Dean’s reaching for the belt and fastening on Sam’s pants.  
  
There’s really no dignified way to remove another person’s pants, Sam knows that, and the two of them are all elbows and flying fingers as they try to beat each other in speed for removing the last layers of clothing in between them. Dean is hung well, Sam has time to notice, before he’s being pushed back onto the bed and Dean is covering him. A blanket of fire and muscle lying on top of him, and the hard lines of Dean’s body make Sam moan low in his throat before he grabs at Dean’s hips and thrusts upwards, length to length, in an attempt to crawl inside that heat and never leave. If Sam could be warm, just a little warm for a little while…and there’s that thought of purification again coming against his will and causing him to close his eyes so Dean can’t see the hope there.  
  
There’s sweat despite the coolness of the room, and friction that makes Sam crazy and vocal despite his attempts to hold it in. He hears Dean mutter above him, gasp and then grind out, “Come on, come on Sam, let me hear it.”  
  
So Sam tilts his head back and lets his mouth open, feels Dean moving against him in perfect animal rhythm as he moans Dean’s name over and over again. Talented tongue and lips travel over Sam’s throat, blunt teeth nip at his clavicle, fingers stroke his sides, and all too soon Sam feels the crest of the wave that brought them to this moment.  
  
He tries, tries so hard, to warn Dean but it’s too late. Sam is tumbling, falling from the sky and when he crashes it’s with a roar of sound and Dean is following him down.  
  
They rest there, sticky and sweaty, panting harshly into each other’s mouths and then Dean laughs once in a low husky way that stirs Sam’s cock again. He opens his eyes long enough to see Dean, fucked-out and rough looking, before green eyes lower in between them and a self-conscious grin crosses Dean’s pink lips.  
  
“Well,” he clears his throat but his tone is still velvety and low, “that was something new.”  
  
Sam feels his eyebrows rising to his hairline, his fingers already shaking in the aftermath, as he tries to analyze what Dean means. Strong fingers grip his chin, and those lips lock onto his for several long moments before the voice comes again.  “Never got off on something so simple. Very nice though.”  
  
Sam nods once, looks away as best he can, and then grunts with loss when the heat leaves him and the cold air hits his wet skin. Dean’s gone for several minutes, Sam’s almost given up on him coming back, and then Dean returns with a warm washcloth and throws it to Sam with a grin on his face. There’s silence in the room now, and Sam’s trying not to shake visibly as he wipes himself down and throws the washcloth into the laundry basket. After a while he meets Dean’s appraising gaze and tries to control the sound of his voice. “Now what?”  
  
“I was thinkin’ a nap. Maybe a long one. You?” Sam doesn’t dare to hope for anything, he’s already been given so much here, but when Dean slides into the bed beside him careful to not touch but close enough Sam can feel his heat he relaxes back into the mattress.  
  
“Yeah. Sounds good.” They fall asleep like that, shoulders almost touching, and Sam makes sure he falls asleep second so he can watch Dean’s face relax into unconsciousness.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean wakes to the sound of the door slipping open quietly. Bright blue eyes peer at him from the crack, and he holds up one finger before sliding out of the bed. Sam’s still asleep, face relaxed and one arm thrown casually over Dean’s stomach. He lays it gently along Sam’s side and then grabs his pants and shirt. She’s gone when he looks up from dressing, and he wonders if she disappeared from the doorway when he got out of the bed or before. She seems like the type to overlook nudity.  
  
He glances once more at Sam’s peaceful face, free of the shadows Dean’s gotten so used to, and then slides out and follows her onto the porch. The sun has set, _how long did they sleep_ , and Loki's nowhere to be seen. She gestures to the bench and then sits beside him. They’re quiet for a long time, looking upwards together, and Dean’s never felt so at ease under a dark sky before.  
  
She lights up beside him and then after a long drag she speaks. “So how long do we have?”  
  
Reality crashes back down coldly and Dean looks her way. _A week_. Technically a day less now and how much time will he get in with Sam before he has to leave? Has to chance never coming back? “A week. Dad called. Will we be finished by then?”  
  
Her fingers move through the darkness, her face briefly and dimly lit by the inhale, and then shadowed completely again. “No, but I have a backup plan. You are coming back.” Not a question, not a command, something strangely in between.  
  
“Yes ma’am. As soon as I can.” He'll do it to. He can remember the taste of Sam as if it's still lingering there.  
  
“He hasn’t done this in a long time. Any of this. Go easy on him.” He sees that brief red flash of her face again, the way she looks so serious and solemn, and he nods once to show he gets it.  
  
“I won’t disappear.” He can’t promise that though. It’s a dangerous life, Dean has always known that, and with them closing in on the Yellow Eyed Demon things can only get worse as time goes on. He thinks of the big body sleeping in the back bedroom and his fingers twitch to get back. To touch Sam’s skin again. He wants to ask where the scar came from before he licks the length of it. Wants to taste that skin in its entirety. He’s never been one for half-measures.  
  
Her voice is just as solemn as before, but the tone of it is different now. Hesitant. “Bobby told me a little bit about your mom. I was wondering if you’d like help?”  
  
He jerks once before looking her way. “What?”  
  
Her shoulders shrug, a pantomime so he can see the gesture in the dark, and the cigarette moves to punctuate her words. “Help. I'm a practitioner Dean. I know some shit.”  
  
He bristles for a moment, the old defensiveness coming back. Bobby’s got so many dusty old tomes it’s dizzying and if he can’t find it…but that’s not helpful. Not constructive thinking. After all extra hands can't hurt right? “Is it safe for you to offer this?”  
  
She waves her hand, makes a disgusted noise, and then takes a long drag. “Fuck safe. You coming back depends on ending this vendetta, and Sam's happiness depends on you coming back. I’m in this. One way or another I’m in this.”  
  
He can’t argue that. “Ok. But if it's too dangerous-“  
  
“I need to back off?” There’s amusement now and he peers at her through the darkness. “Dean, trust me when I say I may not hunt but I'm not a stranger to danger. Shit I hate rhyming.”  
  
He can’t help it, he laughs, and then he leans an arm around her shoulder and feels her jump once before settling. “You’re a strange girl. Thank you.” There’s a world of words here all of which Dean wants to use and can’t. He wants to thank her for Sam, for saving Sam and pushing him, for being there, for everything. Instead he lets the two words carry all the weight of his thoughts and from the line of tension he knows she understands.  
  
“My pleasure. Now let’s get inside before I freeze to death.” She pauses for a moment and then stands. “Want me to sleep in my own bed?”  
  
He thinks of Sam lying naked under the sheets. Waiting for him. “Yeah that’d probably be best. Unless you're planning on hopping in with that little guy.”  
  
She laughs once, slaps his shoulder and then heads inside sending one last shot behind her. “Be a gentleman for once. Take him some food.”  
  
Dean follows her command, makes sandwiches and grabs two beers before heading back into the bedroom. Sam’s still asleep, curled on his side now with his face pressed into the pillow Dean was using before he left. Dean indulged himself and watched Sam sleep for several long minutes before the sweating beers became too much and he gently nudged the younger man’s shoulder. Sam blinked awake, eyes peering at him and then taking in the darkness outside the windows.  
  
“Holy shit. How long were we asleep?” He’s rubbing at his eyes, looking all of twelve years old despite his size, and Dean wants to laugh but doesn’t. He’s overwhelmed with how fond of Sam he already is, how fond he could become.  
  
“Long time Sleeping Beauty. I brought you a sandwich.”Sam gives him a dirty look, but takes the sandwich and the beer before wolfing them both down. Dean joins him, and they eat in comfortable silence, shoulder to shoulder in the bed. After they’ve finished Sam puts the bottles down on the desk and pulls sweats out of his dresser. He slides them on and then turns to catch Dean staring at him.  
  
Sam’s ass, Dean is ashamed to admit, is probably better than his. Probably the best he’s ever seen. It’s not like Dean goes around checking out guys' asses, it’s a road he’s taken once or twice but only when curiosity overcame him, and so his basis for comparison is fairly slim. Still he’s seen a fair number of attractive butts and this one takes the cake. He waits for Sam to cross the room again, to rejoin him, and then he reaches over and turns off the lamp he turned on when he came in.  
  
They sit in the dark like that, Dean feeling unsure and overdressed, and the silence morphs from comfortable to strange in what feels like seconds. He feels Sam bump his shoulder, and then the voice he’s starting to know too well comes out in the darkness. “What’s bothering you?”  
  
“I can’t promise I’m coming back Sam.” He pauses, lets that sink in, and then moves forward. “I’m gonna try. I want you to know that, to believe it, ok?”  
  
He’s surprised by a low chuckle. “Are you reassuring me?”  
  
Dean’s almost offended. The chuckle is nice but he knows that tone too well. “Yes. Why the fuck shouldn’t I?”  
  
“I’m an adult Dean. I can handle it if you change your mind. I’m not-“  
  
“ _Sam_.” He says it without thinking about it, something about the darkness or the intimacy of the moment leaving him open enough to express it. “The only thing that would keep me from coming back at this point is death.”  
  
He hears Sam suck in a deep breath, and then large strong fingers grip his elbow with surprising accuracy. “Don’t say that. I know it’s possible but let’s leave it as something we don’t say. Ok?”  
  
It’s shocking really, a Winchester move if ever there was one, and Dean’s momentarily struck dumb. He feels the fingers squeeze harder and then release. He waits a moment for Sam to get it back under control and then taps Sam’s ankle with his sock covered foot. “Ok. Got it. What would you like to talk about?”  
  
“I’m not interested in talking right now. It’s dark, we’re in bed together. I’m assuming Ope is sleeping in her room tonight.”  
  
Dean knows that tone, has used it himself more than once, and he doesn’t bother answering. He turns his head to find Sam’s face right next to his, and he takes advantage of that closeness.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
If someone asked Sam three weeks ago what he’d wake up to on a Saturday morning he would have said his alarm clock. Standard procedure on Saturdays was to drag Ophelia out onto the road for a run, and then read the paper while devouring cereal. Instead he wakes to Dean, still burning hot and half-dressed. It’s some late afternoon hour, they stayed up until sunrise talking, and now he’s groggy and regretting what this is going to do to his internal schedule.  
  
His knee is better, still ugly but usable, and he makes his way into the kitchen to find Loki drinking hot chocolate.  
  
"So-uh-sleep well?"  
  
Loki's head tilts and he smiles brightly. "Well minus the moaning from your room and all the sexual tension Opey is sending me I slept just fine."  
  
"Don't let her hear you say that." Loki laughs and Sam relaxes back against the china cabinet. "Hey-uh-you wanna see my set-up later?" It's awkward. Childish really, like a little boy asking to show off his action figures, but Sam's never had a friend over. Loki smirks, but it's not unkind.  
  
"I thought you'd never ask."  
  
He studies the hacker before he grabs his own coffee and goes looking for Ophelia. She’s not in bed, not this late, and he finds her in the basement surrounded by books with a notebook open and full of scribbles. He glances at them, doesn’t recognize what her slanted handwriting is recording, and sinks into the comfortable old armchair.  
  
“Sleep ok?” She doesn’t look up from her work when she speaks, drops a green tab on the page she’s reading and then flips the book closed and reaches for another. Sam recognizes the cover but it’s in Italian and he doesn’t speak the language.  
  
“Yeah. Pretty good, you?” He watches her frown over a passage in the book before she closes it and reaches for another. “Is this for your work? Somebody want something really esoteric?”  
  
“Fine. No.” She rubs at her forehead and then looks up with red-rimmed eyes. She hasn’t been to sleep. Sam knows the look. Her eyes are too bloodshot for anything other than a full night of reading. He offers her his coffee and she gratefully accepts. “And no. In that order.” She gives him a careless grin and goes back to reading, her right hand scribbling in the notebook without looking at what she’s writing.  
  
He studies her notes more closely now, and sees that she’s writing names that look familiar. She’s circled the word ‘Enoch’, underlined the word ‘pattern’, and left a question mark beside a page reference with a Latin title next to it. He slides out of the armchair to the floor and picks up one of the books. It’s in English, and it’s about fallen angels.  
  
“Ophelia. What are you doing?” His blood is already starting to run cold, his fingers shaking slightly as he tries to keep it under control. Whatever she’s researching it’s not work related. Sam knows from experience that while people often ask for something original or unique, they rarely want anything as complicated and heavy as the sort of thing she's looking at right now.  
  
“Researching Sam.” She glanced up again and that concerned frown made its appearance. “No big. Promise.”  
  
She gets up long enough to double-click something on his work computer, and Lacuna Coil starts up over the speakers even as she’s sitting back down and pulling the heavy tome back to her. “When are you going to sleep?”  
  
“When I’m done with these notes. Soon. I promise.” She’s lying and he knows it. Knows the look she gets when a project has consumed her ability to care about personal safety. She once went three and a half days without sleeping while she tried to recreate a mural she saw in a movie. She did it for fun, but by the last day of her sleeplessness she was slurring her words and dropping things. She couldn’t remember what the original point was by then, and Sam had to hold her down on the couch until she fell asleep. He’d made her swear to never do that again, and she’d complied.  
  
He pushes himself up off the floor and watches her bent head. “If you’re not asleep in two hours I’m dosing you Ope. I’m not kidding.”  
  
She nods once, distractedly, and then he heads for the stairs. “Hey Sam?”  
  
He looks over his shoulder to see she’s still looking in the book, her hand scribbling furiously. “Yeah?”  
  
“I'm kinda glad Loki's here. It's nice to see you with friends.” He closes the door on the distracted look she’s giving the book.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
She comes up five minutes before his ultimatum is up and goes past them into her room. Dean has joined the land of the living, or in the case of everyone but Sam and Loki the semi-living, and Sam watches him eat two bowls of Ophelia’s cereal before the green eyes are bright and clear. “What’s today’s plan?”  
  
Loki shakes Ophelia's keys with a mischievous grin. "I'm being given the honor of exploration. I'm betting I'm doing it alone."  
  
"Yes. You are." Dean studied him for a second and then Sam watched his eyes land on the file folder the hacker had brought with him. The one Sam had never bothered going through. It hadn't been that long ago he'd thought Dean was going to kill them in their sleep. Life was…odd.  
  
Loki nods and holds up both hands. "Hey no problem man. I have some things to pick up anyway. Sweets for my sweet." He winks once, and then he's gone. Sam's vaguely concerned for him, and what Ophelia will do if the guy actually tries to get her in bed.  
  
It’s just the two of them and Sam is left holding his bowl and watching Dean study the file folder. When those eyes come back to Sam the seriousness changes into something that reignites the warmth in Sam’s stomach.  
  
“Looks like it’s just you and me Sammy. Anything you want to do?”  
  
Sam considers the offer and then points out the obvious. “Didn't you come here for rest or something?”  
  
Dean’s grin wavers once, a strange look crossing his face, and then he’s grinning again. Bright even against the morning sunlight. “Are there places without a lot of people around here?”  
  
Sam thinks about it, his knee probably not up to anything too strenuous, and then he comes up with an idea. Jeff left his old rods in the garage and Sam hasn’t been out in it in years. “Yeah. I can think of something.” Before he goes to change he grabs the file folder up, crosses the kitchen, and dumps it into the trashcan without opening it. Dean's smile is worth the whole damn world.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Sam’s got a bite and Dean looks over from his chair and grins when Sam starts reeling it in. It’s their first bite of the excursion and Sam can’t help his pride. Right up until the fish comes above the water line and he sees that it’s the smallest Bluegill he’s ever spotted. He unhooks it carefully and then throws it back before meeting Dean’s eyes. There’s silence, a long silence, and then Dean starts laughing.  
  
“You’re going to scare the fish away.” He knows it doesn’t help his case that he speaks loudly and slowly to Dean. Which doesn’t matter because the hunter just laughs harder at Sam’s offended look.  
  
The last time Sam was here was with Ophelia and her uncle, and Jeff taught him everything he knows. He remembers the sun that day, bright and directly overhead, and he remembers the way Jeff smiled easily as he explained baiting the hook and waiting out the fish. It's weird to combine that smile with the things he now knows about the man.  
  
It’s peaceful here, the regular fishermen usually come at late hours, so Dean and Sam have the place almost to themselves. It’s too late in the season for swimmers and kids are in school. Dean has brought beer, _a fishermen’s best tool_ he claims, and the two of them are lounged back in patio chairs they brought as they watch their bobbers.  
  
Sam can hear the birds calling, the wind running through the trees, and every now and then he steals glances at Dean’s face. The smile is easy and fixed, the jaw unclenched for once, and Sam’s glad to see it. It’s good to just do this, no need for confessions or tension, just relaxing in the sunlight. It gives him time to breathe, to think, and Sam uses this time to consider nothing instead and enjoy it.  
  
They reel in and cast on a fairly regular basis, checking the bait after nibbles with no real bite. Once or twice Sam leaves his line out long beyond a nibble and just watches the water reflect the sunlight. After a full hour of silence Dean speaks softly. “Hey Sam, this is really nice.”  
  
Sam nods once and then turns to really look at Dean. His face is open, honest, and Sam swallows hard at the sight of it. “Yeah. Really nice.”  
  
He has to turn back and watch his bobber so he doesn’t say anything stupid. He reels in, finds his bait has been stolen, and slides another leaf worm onto the hook before casting out deeply. He’s in the middle of adjusting the positioning of his bobber when he feels the hand on his shoulder, and he turns his face to find Dean right there. The man makes as much noise as a cat when he wants to, and it should be unsettling but Sam finds it ridiculously erotic.  
  
Sam raises an eyebrow, goes to say something sardonic, and finds that he has a mouthful of Dean. He grips the back of Dean’s shirt with one hand, the other still holding his rod while Dean’s talented mouth works his over. There's Dean's tongue questing for entrance, Sam allows it and then tilts his head for a better angle. He feels rough stubble, tastes the lingering remnants of coffee and the overwhelming essence of Dean, and then it’s all gone and Dean is whooping in joy as his line jerks forward.  
  
Sam can’t stop the laugh that escapes him at the childlike glee on Dean’s handsome face. It’s the only fish they catch all day that they can keep and it’s a beauty, can’t weigh less than 12 pounds. Sam never has a chance to beat Dean’s catch, they spend the rest of the day kissing in the sunlight, the cool breeze mitigating Dean’s natural heat.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
When they get home they find Loki in the kitchen rubbing at his neck and considering a pan full of Hamburger Helper. He looks up from it and gives an abashed smile to the two of them. “Ophelia told me to cook. Catch anything good?”  
  
“Caught a beauty, gonna clean it right now.” Dean touches Sam’s lower back lightly and then grabs the newspaper off the table and goes back outside. He’s left alone with Loki who hasn’t missed the gentle touch.  
  
“Sammy. Is this uh-you and he involved?” There's something awkward on Loki's face and it makes Sam tense and despair. His first friend, and this is going to be the end of that.  
  
"Yeah. That a problem?" There's a moment he thinks Loki will say yes, but instead the hacker goes back to smirking.  
  
"Nah man. Less competition for the bondage beauty."  
  
Tension pours out of Sam and he nods before leaving the room. Doesn't want Loki to see how grateful he is. Ophelia’s door is open and her room is empty. He goes straight to the basement to find her in the middle of that book pile again, the frown fixed firmly on her face as she rifles through a book. It’s the history of demons she suggested to Dean, and Sam’s happiness flees at the sight of it.  
  
When she looks up and sees his expression she drops the book, on her feet instantly and touching his face. “Sam? What’s wrong? Did Dean do something?”  
  
“No. No I’m fine. Why are you researching demons?”  
  
She glances once at the books, back at him, and then away. “Uh. I told Dean I’d help him. That may not be a story I should tell you.” She goes for a smile and it looks harsh and unnatural. Her hands rub at his arms for several long seconds. “Does that bother you?”  
  
“Not at all.” _A lot_. “Just wish you’d take better care of yourself.”  
  
He slips away from her, heads back upstairs and sits at his laptop so he can finish that last paper. Focuses so hard he’s afraid he’ll break something even as his shaking hands type rapidly. She sticks her head in after several terse paragraphs are done and studies him silently for a long time before speaking. “Dinner’s ready.” Her head disappears out of the doorway and Sam follows her into the kitchen where Dean is already washing his hands and chatting almost amiably with Loki about his catch.  
  
“Put up quite a fight didn’t it Sammy?”  
  
Ophelia’s eyes catch his and one eyebrow brushes under the line of her bangs. She’ll have to get a haircut soon because she hates when her bangs cross the line into her eyes. He realizes he’s never answered Dean’s question and everyone is staring at him.  
  
“Yeah. Big fight.” Loki rolls his eyes as he drops garlic bread on the table. Dean nods encouragingly and then takes the thread of the story back up.  
  
“So there I am struggling with the biggest Largemouth Bass you’ve ever seen…”  
  
Sam can’t focus on dinner, or the conversation, or anything really other than the stack of books in the basement. There’re two aspects that bother him really, but one significantly more than the other. Ope’s secrecy is disturbing but not completely unforeseen. She's kept the secret of her family's business from him since they met after all. Which is something they're eventually going to have to argue about, because it should piss Sam off. A lot. It doesn't though. Considering the number of secrets he's been hiding from her all this time it isn't really fair to be angry at her.  
  
But Dean needs to know about demons? What could he possibly need to know? She’s been running through those books like someone’s life depends on it, and the only person she acts like that for is Sam. Which means either Sam’s missing something, or this research has to do with him. What does Dean know about his past exactly?  
  
Sam’s been vague, as vague as possible, and Ope can’t share the biggest secret he has. She doesn’t know it. He tries to focus in on the conversation, it’s switched to Jeff’s old motorcycle, but he loses the thread too fast as his head spins away. Could Dean have been snooping and put it all together? There hasn’t been time for that, and Dean doesn’t know Sam’s old name. Doesn’t know where Sam was when he gave in to Brady or any other set of details necessary for that amount of research. _There’s no way_.  
  
He jumps when a hand touches his shoulder, and then Ope’s voice cuts through his fog. “Sam. Dinner’s over. Get up.”  
  
Sam looks around to see Loki is gone and Dean is studying him without looking directly at him. He gathers his plate and heads for the sink to do dishes but Ophelia’s little hands direct him away. “Bed time Sammy. Get some rest. Loki's taking me to the bar tonight to relax. I'll probably come back alone. Get the shovels ready." He gives her a weak smile and tries to ignore her look of concern.  
  
Dean stays in the living room while Sam struggles through the last of his paper and then fools around on the internet. He hasn’t sifted through the bookmarks in days and he considers the little button before ignoring it in favor of using Google.  
  
He types in Brady’s name and finds the familiar articles, _Honors Student Goes Missing_ , and then he jumps again when a larger and stronger hand touches his shoulder this time. The look he gives Dean is guilty, and he fights to hide how frightened he is.  
  
Dean studies the picture on the screen with a look of discontent. The business man haircut Brady kept to make himself less suspicious, more trustworthy, blue eyes like ice chips, and the strong jaw line that Sam found so irresistible at first and so terrifying at the end. That jaw that powered those teeth that…  
  
He feels the hand on his shoulder squeeze once, briefly, and then Dean’s voice is practically an extension of the squeeze in Sam’s ear. “Don’t go back there. Is that where you’ve been all night?”  
  
Sam shakes his head but he’s not sure what he’s saying no to. “What’s Ophelia researching?”  
  
There’s silence for a long time and Sam is too afraid to turn around. He can feel the muscles of his shoulder trembling under the weight of Dean’s hand. He’d like to lie to himself and say that it’s just nerves, that he’s not acting like a battered spouse right now, but his skin is stretched too tight and he can barely breathe.  
  
When Dean answers there’s a note of hesitation in his voice. “My mother was killed by a demon in my little brother’s nursery when I was four. She’s looking for which one it might be to give my father and me an advantage. Why Sam?”  
  
Sam shakes his head once, fears only partially allayed, and then stands as quickly as he can. His knee gives a twinge of warning, _slow down asshole_ , and he moves away from Dean and starts sorting through textbooks aimlessly. “I was wondering what had her so obsessed.” She’s doing it for Sam though, and he knows that. It’s not that she doesn’t like Dean so much as there’s no way Dean has burrowed that far under her skin this quickly. Even Sam gets attached more quickly than she does.  
  
But if she thought it would bring Dean back faster, or help him be better to Sam, or keep him safe then she’d sacrifice everything for something as small as a demon’s name. Which is an unfair thought because it’s the demon that stole Dean’s life and that makes it a big thing. Sam should be happy that she’s helping, he knows full well what she’s capable of, but that glacier that’s taken up residence in his stomach just won’t go away.  
  
Dean rubs his hand over his mouth for a minute and then looks away. “If you’re going to lie to me Sam you should try harder. I’m a con man for a living.”  
  
“You’re a _hunter_ for a living.” It’s both an accusation and an admonition. Dean’s good at putting himself down. Sam’s been able to see that since the beginning. He watches one eyebrow quirk, a strange look pass over Dean’s face, and then Dean is jovial and light-hearted again.  
  
“You got that right. Want to tell me the truth now?”  
  
“Not really.” Sam leaves the room before this can become another forced confession, and Dean doesn’t follow.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
When Sam finally comes back Dean is waiting for him, the room pitch black, and he can hear Sam rustling around in the dark across the room before cold skin slides against his and Sam is there in the bed. It only takes a second to realize Sam is naked, and he knows it’s probably a diversion tactic, but Dean is hard almost instantly. Sam’s fingers dance along his thigh, each one long and graceful, as if Dean’s skin is a set of piano keys Sam can manipulate a tune out of.  
  
He lets each finger work its way up, travel along 'til they’ve just about reached their destination, and then he grips them to stop them just before they get to his groin. It’s not that Dean doesn’t appreciate the gesture, sex has often been his way to avoid talking about things, but this is important.  
  
Because he’s had time to think while Sam’s been gone, to analyze, and damn if he doesn’t realize that Sam thought Ophelia’s research was related to himself. He’d love to let it go, to simply let Sam distract him with pleasure, but first he has to know why Sam’s afraid of Ophelia looking into demons. What that could possibly have to do with Sam.  
  
Dean knows they’re alone up here, and he waits for Sam’s fingers to pull against his grip before he speaks. “Tell me the truth Sam.” It’s not supposed to sound so harsh but Dean’s restraining himself as well as Sam. The kid is always so cold, and Dean wants to cover him, blanket him and warm him up, but this has to come first.  
  
He can’t see more than Sam’s dim outline in the dark room, but he feels the trembling start up again. It makes Dean feel terrible, to cause Sam to be so nervous and afraid, and fuck he’s in so much trouble here. When Sam finally responds it’s so quiet Dean has to strain to hear it. “Brady was a demon.”  
  
He releases Sam’s hand and feels it pull away from him before he’s grabbing Sam and pulling him into his own warmth. Sam shakes hard, a leaf in a strong wind, and Dean strokes gently along his back even as he’s making soothing noises. He feels the dampness of tears against his neck where Sam’s face is pressed.  
  
Dean wants to go to Texas, go back in time really, and be the one who kills Brady. Bleeding to death was too kind a fate for the son of a bitch. He holds Sam 'til the trembling stops and then pitches his voice so it's as soothing as it can be. “No Sam. Not a demon. Just an evil son of a bitch. There’s a difference Sammy.”  
  
He feels Sam shake his head, unable to get more words, and so he grabs Sam’s chin and tilts it upwards so he can find Sam’s lips in the dark. It starts chaste, comforting, and turns into more. Sam’s tears have stopped, but Dean licks the salty tracks off of Sam’s sharp cheekbones before going back to his mouth. It changes from comfort to lust almost too fast for Dean to follow. One second the two of them are wrapped around each other and Sam’s shaking, the next Dean is over him and Sam is breathing hard and fast like he’s been running.  
  
Dean could spend years doing just this, kissing Sam, feeling the long and hard lines of him, but he doesn’t have years. He has days, days until he has to wave goodbye and drive off from all of this, and Dean plans on living those days to their fullest.  
  
His hands travel the lines of Sam’s chest, rub once over hardened nipples and he sucks the gasp from Sam’s mouth before moving lower to the sharply defined hipbones. Sam’s so big under him, tall and long, but Dean feels larger than Sam at this moment. He thrusts forward once, his erection brushing against Sam’s through the thin layer of his boxer briefs. Dean doesn’t want to stop there though, to simply let it be them rubbing off against each other.  
  
He kisses his way down Sam’s chin to the long column of his throat, bites gently at Sam’s collarbone the way he did before and hears Sam gasp this time. His fingers are still moving along Sam, touching every inch of skin as his mouth follows their path and attaches briefly to one nipple. He tastes every inch of Sam’s torso, tongue skimming along tanned and cold skin and leaving trails of fire.  
  
When he finds the line of the long scar he licks it before kissing it and Sam cries out loudly and arches underneath him. He plans on asking about that another time, but he has a feeling he knows where it came from. When he tastes Sam’s hipbones he hears a keen, an actual keen, and then he finds Sam’s erection and breathes over it gently.  
  
He waits for Sam to thrust upwards, to request it silently, and then he licks along the shaft and over the vein 'til he gets to the head. He sucks it in, swells a little more at the mixture of taste and Sam’s helpless little moan, and then goes to work.  
  
Dean doesn’t have experience with blowjobs in this sense. He’s never gone down on a guy before, never wanted to really, but he knows what he likes and he can use that as a set of directions. He keeps a steady suction going, grips the base, moves it in counterpoint to his mouth. Sam’s making these sounds, and Dean has trouble concentrating for every second of them. It was like this the first time too, each noise breathless and strangled as if Sam is trying to stay silent. Dean hates that, wants to hear Sam’s pleasure, and so he ups the ante and swirls his tongue before scraping his teeth against the bundle of nerves at the head.  
  
Sam’s cry is _perfect_ , exactly as Dean imagined it would be, and those long fingers give up their death grip on the sheets and grab his short hair. When Sam speaks it’s a choked whisper. “Dean. Dean. More.”  
  
He’s not sure what more he can do, doesn’t know what Sam wants, until Sam lifts his hips slightly and finds Dean’s fingers wrapped around his shaft, lowers them, whimpers softly. Dean realizes all too quickly exactly what Sam wants.  
  
He’d thought that would take a while, certainly wasn’t expecting the offer tonight, but he’s never been one to pass up a good thing. He can hear Sam struggling with something, the nightstand Dean thinks, and the scrape of a drawer opening and suddenly Sam’s gone from his mouth and cursing as he digs through the contents of the drawer.  
  
Dean bites his lip so Sam won’t hear the laughter bubbling up in him, slides his boxer briefs off as quickly as he can, and then somehow Sam finds his hands and puts a bottle of lube in one and a condom in the other. Dean’s hard enough so he takes care of the condom first and then pops open the lube bottle. It only takes a little, Dean knows there’s such a thing as too much, and then he’s back down with Sam’s cock in his mouth and one finger rubbing gently at Sam’s entrance. This is a process he knows very well, and he takes his time before he even penetrates with the first finger.  
  
It’s the feel of that, breaching Sam’s body for the first time that reminds Dean it’s been years since Sam has done anything like this. He doubts Brady was gentle and kind, wonders if Sam has ever had a sexual encounter that didn’t end with pain, and then he pushes that thought away and focuses on opening Sam up.  
  
He takes his time, moves his mouth to kissing Sam’s thigh, his hipbones again, the junctures of his thighs, and the whole time Sam is steadily gaining volume as he begs and pleads for Dean to get the fuck on with it. He’s up to three fingers by the time he gives in to Sam’s request, slicking himself up once and then shifting Sam onto his side so that Dean can hold one long leg up, with Sam’s bad knee still on the mattress taking no weight and no strain.  
  
He pushes in slow, hears Sam suck in a sharp breath, and stops halfway in. It’s tight, so tight Dean can barely think, and more importantly he’s finally found something on Sam’s body other than his mouth that is really warm without effort. He waits until Sam pushes back against him, and then he buries his face in the soft curls at the back of Sam’s neck as he thrusts forward all the way and buries himself in Sam’s body.  
  
It’s incredible really, and much to Dean’s chagrin he knows that everything he’s thinking is a cliché and a girly one at that. It’s like coming home, the other half, _blah, blah,_ but Dean can’t avoid how true all the romantic and flowery phrases are. He’ll never say them out loud, sticks to panting Sam’s name, to encouraging Sam to move more and more, but he can think them without anyone ever knowing.  
  
Dean lets the pace build but remains very careful about Sam’s injured knee. It’s hard because his instincts are screaming for him to change positions, to move Sam onto his knees and simply fuck him into the mattress and Dean is usually a creature of instinct when it comes to these things.  
  
It’s at some point in this long train of thought that he realizes Sam’s touching himself, and that won’t do because honestly it’s Dean’s job to please Sam. Has been since that first kiss, and he takes Sam’s velvety cock in his hand and grips it tightly. He strokes slow and long, following the pace of his thrusts, and gives a flick of his wrist at the head despite the awkward angle. Sam’s sounds are full and deep now, coming from his throat as he comes undone in Dean’s hand. Dean keeps going, pushes Sam over the edge and then fucks into him at least a half dozen more times before he’s following Sam’s example and tumbling into orgasm.  
  
They stay like that a long time, Dean’s face in the sweaty hair at the base of Sam’s neck, his hand covered in Sam’s rapidly cooling release, and his dick buried in Sam until finally Sam moves away. There’s a small gasp as Dean withdraws, rustling, and then Dean’s hand is grabbed and Sam’s rubbing it briskly with a towel Dean can only assume he got from the laundry basket. The condom is pulled off with shaky efficiency, and where it goes Dean couldn't even begin to guess.  
  
They lay together in the dark, foreheads pressed solidly against one another, and Dean breathes in as Sam breathes out. They don’t discuss it, don’t talk about what’s just happened or what it means, they just lay there breathing like that until Dean knows Sam is asleep. When he’s sure Sam’s gone he kisses the forehead once, and then follows Sam into slumber.


	11. Chapter 11

When Sam woke up his right hand had somehow become buried under Dean’s solid bulk, and he pulled it out before massaging blood flow back through it with his other set of fingers. After the tingling finally stopped he slid out of the bed, pulled sweats and a flannel on, and padded out to the kitchen. He cursed once, low and sharp, when he realized he’d forgotten socks and the tile floor was freezing cold.

  
Ophelia looked up from her book, a bagel in one hand and an eyebrow arched high. Color suffused her cheeks, her grin split broadly across her face, and then she leaned back and put both items down. Her eyes looked raw and tired, bags underneath each, and Sam knew she’d been in the basement all night again, but her smile was honestly delighted. “Sam Burton. You dirty man you, how was it?”  
  
He purposefully didn’t meet her eyes, moved across the kitchen and wondered if his knee was repaired enough to go for a long walk since running was still out. He poured himself a cup of coffee, sat next to her and watched her light a cigarette. “Ope. I know this is hard for you to remember with all the sleep deprivation, but I’m not a girl. Men don’t sit around and gossip about that.” He saw her sardonic look and then broke out into laughter.  
  
Sam felt good, really good, and a part of him did want to tell her that, but there had to be boundaries even in their relationship. Sharing what happened the night before would cross one of those imaginary lines. She sighed sadly and tried to look wounded. “Alright Sam, alright, I’ll just ask him when he gets up.”  
  
She took a long drag, offered him half of her bagel, and he accepted it gratefully. A mouthful of cream cheese was a pretty good way to start the morning. “Got any plans today Ope?”  
  
Ope glanced once ruefully at the book and then smiled at him. Less honest this time. “I’ve got a trip to Waterville today and then a visit with Hanna. Why, do you want to come?”  
  
He didn’t, not really, because another day alone with Dean sounded wonderful. They only had so much time left. “I dunno. I’ve got some paperwork to finish here, some studying, that kind of thing.”  
  
Her smile still isn’t quite right, but Sam lets it go. There’s a lot going on in her head right now and she can analyze it first and explain it later. “Ok. I'll be out of your hair for a while. You two gonna be ok alone with that computer geek of yours? I could take him.”  
  
Sam shudders and catches her eyes fully. "With Hanna? Won't that mean he'll meet Alan?" He's tense at the thought. Ophelia seems to understand and dismiss it, and Sam wonders for the hundredth time what went wrong with her and the ex, and why she's so casual about a man that would do that to her. Dean walks in on that moment and green eyes send him a question as they take in his posture.  
  
“Well I can't promise the universe won't explode, but I'm pretty sure Alan will behave himself at least. No promises for the keyboard jockey.” She turned her head to fully take Dean in. “You look rested this morning.” Her grin is lascivious, easy, and Sam envies her for the ability. “I’m going out for a day or two. I’ll be back before you leave. We'll tuck one more session under our belts before then.”  
  
Dean pours himself coffee and then sits across from her at the table. Sam feels Dean rub his foot against Sam’s ankle for a moment, and then the contact is over. “Bobby won’t like you going off for a few days on your own. Not so close after you got hurt.”  
  
She tilts her head once and studies Dean. “I'm taking Loki.” She stands and taps Sam’s shoulder. “I’m gonna grab my shit and change.”  
  
After she’s walked away Dean looks Sam’s way. “She mad at me?”  
  
He has to work his jaw once or twice to get it moving again, he’s had it clamped shut too hard for too long, and then he shakes his head. “She’s gonna visit her former best friend and her ex boyfriend."  
  
“They live together?” Dean’s voice is forced casual and Sam looks up to see the way the other man is studying the view of the yard out of the window.  
  
“Yeah.” Sam stands slowly and then heads for Ophelia’s room.  
  
She’s packing an overnight bag with clothes and there’s a larger duffel that usually holds her climbing gear on the bed. From the bulk of it he doubts gear is in there now, and she’s still not supposed to be climbing anyway. He watches her for a long time, and when she looks up from the pants she’s tightly rolling she offers him a smile so fake it’s painful to see.  
  
“Packing is a bitch you know? Never know what you'll need.”  
  
“You don't have to do this for me. I'm ok with you being around.” Sam’s voice isn’t nearly as fervent as it should be. If anyone deserves to be basking in the afterglow it’s her. Still he can’t help the small smile that plays across his lips when he thinks of Dean sitting in the kitchen right now with his mug of coffee.  
  
She waves a hand carelessly and zips up the bag. “It is what it is.” She steps around the bed and hugs Sam tightly. “Be good Sammy. Eat well, rest, enjoy yourself. Go to class Monday ok?”  
  
He nods and puts on the long-suffering face that always makes her laugh. “Yes mom.” It works the way it always does, and she lightly slaps his shoulder before leaving the room.  
  
He watches her say goodbye to Dean. It’s amusing really, because they both briefly look like they’re going to hug each other, and then instead he nods and she gives him a half-assed salute. She’s out the door quickly, blue hair shining in the sun and Loki trailing along behind her. Sam hears the Jeep start up and take off.  
  
After she’s been gone for a while Sam turns to find Dean staring at him. He waits but Dean says nothing, waits until the pressure is just too much, and then Sam raises his eyebrow and Dean’s crossing the space between them so fast it’s surprising. His hand takes Sam’s chin and pulls him down the few inches necessary for Sam’s mouth to be consumed. He lets Dean take control, lets Dean lead him backwards against the wall and plunder his mouth for several long minutes. When Dean lets up Sam has to take deep breaths, his eyes locked on the green ones across from him. Dean’s face is harsh, almost brutal, and Sam feels a shiver of fear before he pushes it back.  
  
He’s pretty sure Dean won’t hurt him, but he doesn’t know what’s going on here. “Dean?” It sounds stupid, unsure, but it’s all he can say.  
  
“Never do that to you Sammy. Understand?” Dean’s voice is hard, as hard as the line of his jaw, and Sam takes a minute to figure out what he means. When he gets it he wants to laugh, at least part of him does, but the rest of him is desperate to taste Dean’s promise. His whole life no one has ever given him what Dean has so far, and the promise of more kept only for Sam is hard to resist.  
  
Hands grip his elbows tightly, and he lets them hold on to him because suddenly his knees don’t feel so steady anymore. He wants to tell Dean that he feels the same way. That he’ll be faithful, that he’ll never make a fool out of the older man, and that this oddly consuming desire in Dean’s eyes is something Sam feels too. Instead all that comes out is, “Let’s watch a movie.”  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
They’re on their fifth movie for the day, breaking for the bathroom and snacks but nothing else. They watch one from every genre in Ophelia’s arsenal. Sam’s surprised at how new they all seem with Dean sitting near him on the couch. They don’t touch for the most part, and every now and then they laugh at the same time, or share a look, and Sam can’t comprehend how he got so damn lucky so quickly.  
  
Part way through _Unforgiven_ Sam looks over to see Dean’s look of concentration on the screen, the rapt way his eyes move over Clint Eastwood’s face and the bleak desert around him, the way his mouth moves silently with the lines. Sam is overwhelmed with the urge to explore Dean the way Dean explored him. He reaches over, long fingers hesitantly brushing Dean’s midsection, and the older man’s eyes narrowed down to slits. Dean held perfectly still, his gaze barely moving before he spoke. “Sam?” A world of questions there and Sam answers none of them, slides back on the couch to give himself more room and lifts the hem of Dean’s shirt so he can see skin.  
  
 _“It's a hell of a thing, killing a man. Take away all he's got and all he's ever gonna have.”_  
  
Sam’s fingers quest over the definition in Dean’s abs, along the ridges and lines and scars, and then his tongue follows and tastes each one. Dean’s breathing has sped up, his hands are fluttering at his sides not quite touching Sam, and his muscles tremble under Sam’s tongue.  
  
 _“Yeah, well, I guess they had it coming.”_  
  
Sam tastes higher, mouth clamping over one nipple as the hand that’s not holding him up struggles with Dean’s belt buckle and then gets it open with a loud snick. His tongue licks over the black spot and the lines the come from it. The skin there tastes odd, the remnants of burnt, and Dean shivers strangely and makes a low noise Sam doesn't recognize. He’s already popping the button, sliding down the zipper, and he can feel the heat coming off of Dean. That ever present heat. Dean’s voice comes again, hesitant and unsure, but certainly aroused. “Sam?”  
  
 _“We all got it coming, kid.”_  
  
Dean’s cock springs free and Sam licks it once, experimentally, and then takes the head in his mouth and rolls his tongue around it. He hears the gasp, a shaky hand strokes his hair, grips once lightly and then pulls back suddenly as if it was burned.  
  
Sam can practically read Dean’s thoughts even as he’s tasting his flesh for the first time. Dean thinks Sam will bolt if he takes control, if he shows even the slightest sign of domineering or aggressive tendencies, and Sam doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want to be treated like he’s fragile right now because he hasn’t felt this powerful since the last time Brady gave him a fix. He sucks hard, feels that hand rifle through his hair again, and then growls low in his throat before biting lightly.  
  
Dean’s hand clenches in his hair, half encouragement and half warning, and Sam gives him more. Long licks and light brushes of his teeth. The sound of the movie dims away and Sam’s world is narrowed down to the feel of Dean’s skin in his mouth, the tight grip in his hair, and the sense of Dean’s heavy gaze on the back of his head. He tilts his face so that he can peer up with one eye and Dean’s face is exactly how Sam pictured it last night.  
  
Lust, lust is blowing out Dean’s pupils, and the pink lips are slick with Dean’s spit as he licks them again and groans out Sam’s name. It seems to be the only word he knows anymore. All of that focus, all that power, is right here at Sam’s disposal and he feels it boosting him upwards. Dean wants him, wants _him_ , and Sam wants to be wanted. He pulls back, locks lips with Dean and feels those strong fingers dancing along his spine and downwards. They have to move off the couch if they go further because there’s no lube out here. Nothing to make this bearable but Sam doesn’t want to move, will take the pain, if it just means Dean’s heat will be a part of him faster.  
  
They get up though, Dean pushing and pulling him without ever losing contact, and they’re in the bedroom with Sam on the bed faster than he can process. His clothes are removed with haste, Dean’s following shortly afterwards, and Sam struggles momentarily with covering himself because the lamp is on and Dean can see him.  
  
“Fucking perfect Sammy.” And it’s that, the use of the nickname and the sound of Dean’s gravelly voice that puts Sam’s fears to bed. When Dean settles between his legs, uses the lube and his fingers to open Sam up again, all he can do is cry for more, for Dean, for this overwhelming sense of safety.  
  
Sex for Sam has been linked to violence for years. Brady was never a foreplay kind of guy, even when he was pretending to be nice, and Sam’s not used to being cherished in bed. He half-expects the tone to change but it never does. Dean doesn’t talk much, and that’s ok with Sam because he can’t make his mouth form words that make sense other than Dean’s name and the word fuck, but that’s ok. _It’s all ok_.  
  
When Dean finally enters him he does it carefully, one hand holding Sam’s knee stable and the other propping Dean upwards. He can see the half-black, half-green eyes staring into him. He can watch the play of muscles over Dean’s stomach, the way he bites his lip and tilts his head back with a particularly deep thrust, and when Dean hits his prostate he can see the way the flesh dimples under his grip and the bruises he leaves on Dean’s hips.  
  
Sam wants it to be this way forever, wants to simply be a part of Dean, an extension of his strength and goodness until Sam is no longer a separate entity, but he’s building to climax so fast it’s taking his breath away. It takes two pumps of Dean’s hand and Sam is spilling over, shouting Dean’s name and watching as Dean follows moments later.  
  
He feels loose, relaxed, lost in the fog of the pleasure when Dean pulls out and lies beside him. They pant in time with one another, shoulder to shoulder, and Sam is momentarily tempted to lay his head on Dean’s chest. He tries to control this by rolling out of the bed, but Dean stops him with a firm hand and gets up himself.  
  
The clean-up process is awkward when lit, but Sam’s careful to remove any trace of himself on his stomach in the interest of not being itchy later. Dean lies back down and Sam joins him. After a stretch of silence Dean finally speaks. “Movie not interesting enough?” It’s light-hearted, full of laughter, and Sam’s so taken aback for a moment by this he can’t respond.  
  
When he finds his voice it’s choked with gratitude. “Eh. Not his best.” It doesn’t sound relaxed, but that’s ok. Dean knows what’s going on in his head. He can see the understanding on the face beside him.  
  
“Sam,” his tone is uncomfortable, and the green eyes shift away, “I’m not pressuring you am I?”  
  
Sam has to chuckle at this, at the look Dean sends him when he does, and then he reaches over and smacks Dean’s thigh hard even as he bursts into belly-shaking laughter. “Pressuring me?” He can barely breathe he’s laughing so hard.  
  
Dean looks like he wants to get the joke but simply can’t. He smiles crookedly and quirks his eyebrow all at the same time. Sam rolls his eyes once his breath is steady enough to speak again. “I’m not made of glass Dean and I’m not a child. I know what I want and I went for it. You’re allowed to enjoy that, to ask for what you want.” He leans in and kisses Dean once lightly, close-mouthed and soft. “You can even take it sometimes. If I don’t want it I’ll stop you.”  
  
When he catches Dean’s eyes again the green is sharp and warm all at the same time. “Ok Sammy. Got the message.” Dean wraps fingers in his hair and pulls him down hard to kiss him. It’s not violent but it’s different than all the ones that came before. The passion there, the hunger and need leave Sam stripped more raw and vulnerable than he’s ever been with Dean.  
  
Even after his confession the night before, the one Dean brushed off, Sam has never felt this exposed in front of the older man. It should scare him, send him running, at least have him pulling back. Instead Sam answers in kind, returns Dean’s aggression and finds that only makes it better. Warmer. _Safe_ , in a way he's only ever felt in his dreams.  
  
It takes two hours for them to get back to the movie.  
  
  
  
\----

 

Loki's eyes travel over the interior of the cabin slowly. "So that guy was a douche. Why'd we visit him?"

She emptied the bag methodically, booze beside sandwiches and glasses. Sam's sedative came out while Loki poked one of the stuffed heads Jeff had left up. The capsule popped open easily and she poured the contents out before dropping whiskey on top. He took the glass with a smile and a wink, and Ophelia felt one bright moment of guilt before she buried it deep. "Old habits. Tonight we're getting blasted with nature. It's a fucking family tradition."

His bright eyes traveled over the glass, her face, and then tilted with a smirk. "Sounds good."

It takes longer than she thought it would, but when he's out she arranges him comfortably on the couch and then covers him with a blanket before reaching for the bag. Something, something she can't quite explains stops her hand for a moment. His breathing is deep, body totally relaxed, and there's no reason to believe he's awake. He's too dosed for that, but she stops anyway and studies him. Whatever weird thing it is that's there she can ignore it. He's Sam's friend, and he's a hassle, but for some reason she bends down and drops a kiss to his forehead before re-adjusting the blanket. Then she sets up the circle.  
  
The summoning doesn't take much time at all. She's never done it before, but she knows the process. The old man that taught her, her uncle's third favorite mooch, spent a ridiculous amount of time explaining summons because of how dangerous they could be. She figures this applies. When Hel arrives the goddess stares blankly at Ope for a moment, and then her eyes travel over the couch and Loki's prone form before a smile curves her desiccated mouth.  
  
"Normally I would punish a speck like you for bothering me."

Ope swallows down her temper and tries to be respectful, but she's never been the best at that. Instead she squeezes her bleeding hand and tilts her head in response. "If you can break that circle you can do whatever the fuck you want. In the meantime, I have questions." The eyes are still locked on the hacker behind her, and Ope feels a cold chill she can't explain. "Hey, _hey_ , eyes over here. He's not fucking involved in this."

The goddess's mouth moves into a broad grin, too many teeth uncovered by splitting and rotting flesh. "He is _always_ involved. Ask your questions insect."

She'll analyze that later. In the meantime, she begins the list she's spent the last few days carefully building.  
  


 

\----  
  
  
  
Dean has three days left and they spend this one mostly outside of the house after Sam gets home from classes. He directs Dean to a series of nature trails and they take one of the intermediate ones in deference to Sam’s knee. Dean insists on stopping fairly often, claims he’s tired but Sam sees the protective looks Dean keeps shooting him. He gives in because if he indulges it now he won’t have to deal with an argument. There’s not enough time to argue. Despite Dean’s promises Sam half-expects to never see those green eyes again.  
  
They end up at Sam’s favorite Italian restaurant, and Dean has a field day with the name of the place. It doesn’t matter how many times Sam tells him it’s a family name Dean still thinks it’s hilarious. He shuts up when the food arrives and all he can do is moan over it and shovel it into his mouth. He looks around hopefully at the dessert menu, but there’s no pie and it’s Dean’s only complaint.  
  
When they get home it’s getting late, and Sam’s almost surprised when Dean's phone rings. He gets only one side of what seems to be a terse conversation, and then Dean hangs up and rubs at the back of his neck angrily as he stares out the window. If he was a normal guy he'd step forward, put a hand on Dean's shoulder, but he's Sam. _Damaged Sam_. So instead he stands perfectly still and waits for the explosion. For the blowback. It never comes though, and instead Sam ends up on the computer in his room tapping away at a paper as Dean lounges on the bed and reads a book.

The tension ebbs away and then it's Dean who breaks the silence.  
  
“We gotta get you to bed kiddo. You got school and work tomorrow.” Dean ducks the book Sam throws easily.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Two days left and Sam is sitting at the help desk while Dean is off wherever he is. Sam assumes it’s at home, but he's afraid to ask what Dean gets up to when he's alone. He watches the phone and wonders if it will ring soon and distract him. The Cisco book is open on the desk in front of him, but he hasn’t read a word of it in hours. A bright voice from behind him shocks him out of his stupor.  
  
“Hey Tiger. That’s quite a love bite. Your girl must be feeling better.” Sam turns to see Ruby’s broad grin, blonde hair hanging in her face as she tilts to look at Sam’s neck.  
  
His fingers cover the spot instantly but his mind is already traveling to the night before and Dean’s stupidly talented mouth. That cocky grin he got when Sam complained about the mark. He could tell Ruby the truth, that’s she’s misinterpreted his relationship with Ope and that it’s a man he met, but he doesn’t. Whether it’s from a desire to keep distance between them or an urge to avoid potential fallout if Ruby is close-minded Sam doesn’t know. Instead he shrugs softly and turns back to the book. “She got a little overly zealous.”  
  
Ruby pulled a chair up beside him and leaned in, brushing against him as she peered at his study material. “I see. Can’t blame her. I’d mark the hell out of you if you were mine.” He slides just enough so that she’s not touching him anymore and flips the page she’s reading.  
  
“Well…thanks I guess. Any good calls tonight?”  
  
Ruby rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair, recounting a call from a young man who wanted to know how to clean a sticky keyboard. The guy apparently thought Ruby’s voice was attractive because after explaining his need, in every way possible without admitting what was making the keyboard sticky, he asked her out.  
  
Sam laughs in all the right places but his mind is somewhere else. On someone else. When she’s finished he shares his own best call of the night, a faculty member who needed to erase browser history desperately before their tech support guy updated her computer the next day. Sam didn’t remind her that he was an extension of tech support and required to repeat this request.  
  
It takes a while, but the calls pick up again and Ruby takes off to her own space to help with the load. Sam fills the time in between with studying. He has a future to protect after all, and this is the way to do it.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean wakes up to the vibrations of his phone. He’s instantly alert, this is the early hours of his last day after all and he’s expecting a call from his dad. Sam is sleeping deeply beside him, face relaxed and hair in his eyes. It takes hours for Sam’s skin to warm up, and Dean’s careful to not expose it when he slides out from under the comforter. He grabs the phone up and opens it to see the text message waiting for him. He doesn’t recognize the number attached to it, but the area code is local.  
  
 _“Meet me outside.-Ophelia”_  
  
The phone and the clock radio agree, it’s 2:30 in the morning and she’s standing outside the house in what must be fairly cold weather sending text messages. _To Dean_. He compares the number in his phone against the one stored in Sam’s phone and that part checks out. He rifles through his bag before finding the little flask of holy water and his gun. He throws on the clothes from that day and heads out silently through Sam’s door and towards the living room door that leads onto the porch.  
  
Dean’s on high alert when he sees her, she looks terrible in the harsh floodlight. Her eyes are bruised and tired, her face heavily lined with stress and sleeplessness. She has a cigarette burning in between her fingers, the ash long and untouched, and she doesn’t look up when he comes out. He can see a bandage wrapped clumsily around her left hand and the way she is fighting to compose herself.  
  
He sits beside her and holds out the flask, she takes it willingly and swallows once before shooting him a strange look. “That’s not liquor asshole.” Her voice is hoarse, tired, and badly paced as if she’s not sure what speed is appropriate for the phrase.  
  
“Holy water. Had to check. You need to ash there Ripley.” She glances downwards once, a wry smile twisting her lips before she crushes the cigarette under her heel and lights a new one. Her fingers tremble when she does. He’s briefly tempted to pat her knee, something comforting, but he holds back. “Bad visit?”  
  
She looks confused for a second and then her eyes clear and she shakes her head once. Brutal, firm, a no to Dean’s question and to something else. She holds out a sheaf of papers and rubs tiredly at her face. “It’s all there. The demon’s name is Azazel.” She meets Dean’s eyes briefly before her glance goes skittering away. “Your mom wasn’t the only victim.”  
  
Dean’s breathless instantly. His father has spent twenty-four years looking for these answers. God only knows how long Bobby has looked. In the span of a few days Ophelia has gathered more information than any of them. He flips through the papers and finds her notes, scrawled across the pages in a slanting hand. They’re disorganized until the end, no doubt in a system only she understands. She summarizes in the last few pages and Dean’s heart clenches when he sees the drops of blood on the last page.  
  
It never occurred to him that asking for help from someone with as much occult knowledge as Bobby but none of the caution or experience would be a bad idea. It’s hitting him hard now. He can’t look at her, can’t make eye contact, can only stare at the blood drops when he asks the question. “How did you get all this?”  
  
He watches out of the corner of his eye when she jerks momentarily. Her voice comes out more controlled than before, but her face shows guilt. She’s getting herself together again and Dean’s almost glad for it. “I summoned something with answers.” He sees her tap the cigarette she’s holding before it disappears from his lowered sightline. “It worked.”  
  
“Summoned something? What the fuck did you-Ophelia what were you _thinking_?” She doesn’t flinch or jerk at his harsh tone. She seems to draw upwards, and that defiant mask is all he can see when he finally looks up.  
  
“You needed answers. I got them. What does it fucking matter where?” She shrugs almost angrily, holds his gaze even as he’s trying to stare her down.  
  
“It matters because this is serious shit. You’re lucky you’re still alive! You should know how damn dangerous summoning-" He has to quit, force himself to shut his mouth and stop the rising volume of his words. “Don’t ever do this again. Promise me.” She hesitates too long and Dean uses the best weapon against her he has, because otherwise he believes she'll renege on this one. “Promise or I tell Sam.”  
  
She flinches at that. Her eyes meet his and he knows she’s being honest. “I promise.” She pauses for a moment and looks to the notes before looking up. “Dean. There’s a lot of stuff there and you should go over it carefully. It doesn’t totally add up.”  
  
He cocks his head and waits for more but she doesn’t give it. Instead she leans back against the bench and closes her eyes. He finally breaks the silence. “I'm assuming this means you didn't visit your asshole ex?”  
  
It’s none of his business and he knows it, but he can’t stand the way Sam looked and he can’t stand the thought of this woman, who barely knows him but risked her life, taking that sort of treatment without complaint. He watches her face stay flat and featureless. Watches her fingers twitch once and rest. “I did. He sold me a ritual item. No big deal.”  
  
She stands suddenly, throws the cigarette over the porch railing to the pavement below, and then turns towards him. She’s illuminated so well the floodlight may as well be a spotlight, and she’s certainly acting when she smiles. He waits but she doesn’t speak, just weighs him with her eyes while her lips smile. “You should get some sleep Ophelia.”  
  
She nods, looks past him at the door, and then back again. “Yup. We gotta work on your shit tomorrow before you leave. I have an idea.” She breezes past without waiting for his response.

When he crawls back into bed with Sam the bigger man throws his arm around him like a kid with a teddy bear and buries his face in the side of Dean’s neck. Dean feels the wet heat of Sam’s breath, the weight of his arm, and tries to sleep despite the thoughts racing through his brain. He shouldn’t be in bed here. He should be reading those notes for more information so he can use tomorrow to ask her questions about them. He should be heading out right now so it’ll take less time to hook up with his father and share what she’s found.  
  
Instead Dean takes a deep breath of Sam and kisses the soft hair gently. His priorities are rapidly falling apart, but Dean can’t make himself care right now. This bed, this man, _this life_ is something Dean suddenly wants more than anything, and that’s why he can’t have it. The weight of his responsibilities, the possibility he’ll never be here again, and the guilt he feels at abandoning his life’s work for comfort. All these things keep him awake 'til Sam’s alarm goes off.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Sam wakes to Dean talking softly on his cell phone. “-got some info on the Yellow Eyed Demon. Yes sir. I’ll be there in twenty hours.”  
  
Dean glances his way, sees his eyes are open and sends him a tired smile. Sam weighs that look carefully, realizes Dean is discussing where he’s leaving for, and wonders how much Dean slept last night.  
  
He rolls out of bed and grabs for sweats and a flannel, remembering this time to put on socks, before padding out of the room to give Dean privacy. He finds Ophelia in the kitchen with Loki, her eyes lined with concealer to hide the bags and a smile so tight on her face it's a wonder it doesn't crack apart. Loki is telling some story with his hands, and he nods once to Sam before going back to it.  
  
Sam pours his coffee, slides into the seat behind her and wraps one arm around her chest before pulling her back into an awkward hug. She squeezes his forearm once and then settles into his grip as Loki shuts up abruptly. He’s released her before Dean comes out and Sam studies Dean’s serious face. Sam pushes a cup of coffee towards Dean, black the way he likes it, and absorbs the smile he gets for it.  
  
The table is silent for a long time, and then Ophelia lights a cigarette and looks out the window before speaking. “When do you leave?”  
  
Dean’s watching her carefully, an odd look on his face that Sam can’t fully read. “In a few hours. I'll stay 'til Sam goes to school and then head out. You get any sleep after you got home this morning?”  
  
She shakes her head once and sips at her coffee. Dean was awake for her getting home? Sam didn’t remember hearing her come in. He should be asking her when she got there, how much sleep she’s had in the last few days. He doesn’t do any of those things. He settles for touching her shoulder once and asking her his questions with his eyes. She gets serious, shakes her head, and then stands and stretches. “I’m going to change Sam. I’ll see you before you head out.”  
  
Sam’s left alone in the kitchen with the two other men and there’s an odd tension there he doesn’t want to be a part of. He sips some more coffee, sticks an English Muffin in the toaster and heads back to his room to change. When he comes home tonight Dean will be gone and Ope will be working. He thinks maybe he'll talk systems with Loki. Try to be normal.  
  
It’ll be good to put distance in between himself and Dean. He’ll have time to analyze these feelings, to figure out what they are and why they’re so intense. There’s always a chance that without the closeness, the confusion of lust and need, Sam will see the whole thing differently. He doubts it though. He dresses carefully, throws books and printed papers into his book bag with his laptop, and then heads out to the kitchen again. Loki and Dean haven’t moved, are apparently having a staring contest if Loki's smirk is anything to go by, and Sam grabs his muffin from the toaster and butters it before eating it standing. When Ophelia comes back in she looks more put together than she has since the attack.  
  
She steps up to Dean and waits for him to stand. “Let's get this shit out of the way now. I’ll see you when I see you. Don’t die.” She goes to punch his shoulder or some equally casual thing and instead simply twitches her hand his way and then steps back. She looks surprised when Dean grabs her into a tight hug. To be honest, Dean looks surprised too. He releases her and she steps back and gives him a real smile, brief and bright, before it’s gone and she’s stepping back and into the living room dragging Loki behind her. Leaving Sam to say his goodbyes alone.  
  
Now it’s just Sam and Dean, and Sam swallows his breakfast harshly and steps forward. They stand awkwardly for a moment, as if unsure of how to proceed, and then Sam closes the last of the distance and kisses Dean. It’s as good as it’s always been, mouth to mouth and Sam can taste coffee again. Dean smells like leather, cheap aftershave, musk and a combination of Sam and Dean. It’s a good smell, one he’s come to associate with warmth and safety, and Sam takes a deep breath of it before he steps back and catches Dean’s green eyes.  
  
“Come back.” It’s meant to be casual like Ophelia’s, but it sounds like pleading even to him. Dean squeezes his hand once, brief and tight, before letting go of him completely.  
  
“I’ll see you as soon as I can.”  Sam turns away from that, away from Dean, and heads out the door. When he gets to the car he doesn't look back. Turns up the radio and speeds off without ever looking back.

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

Ophelia is eyeing his chest thoughtfully before she lays out the ritual items. "This isn't a fix Dean. I need more time for that. This is a stop gap you got me?"

He nods and tries to relax into the yoga mat. "You'll watch out for Sam?"  
  
If looks could kill…  
  
The oils smell terrible this time. No more soothing lavender, no musk, something acrid and harsh. His skin burns in the trails of her fingertips, and it's more sensation than he's had there in some time, but it's not _good_ sensation. He tries to imagine this is Sam's touch and Sam's tongue. Which is…creepy now that he thinks about it, but anything is good if it's a distraction from the low rough chanting and the burning that is rapidly increasing.

Then it's not just unpleasant. It's some sort of torture, and Dean can't hold back the sound anymore. He lets out a moan of pain that becomes a harsh bark, and when his eyes open he sees that she's staring in rapt fascination at her fingers as she traces sigils into his skin. She finally disconnects, and the burn lingers behind even when her skin is gone. "Stay still." Her voice is harsh, and Dean catches a glimpse of her fingers lobster red and painful looking before she's gone from his easy sightline. He doesn't try to follow her. Gives her privacy until he hears the rasp of the striker wheel on her lighter and the deep inhale.

He finally looks down, and sees that the lines have gone gray and indistinct. Which is almost promising. He finds her then and sees that she's staring almost blankly at her burned fingertips as she slowly exhales pot smoke. Something odd occurs to him. "Is that a pain reliever?"

Ope's pierced eyebrow swoops halfway up and then collapses as if it's exhausted. "Nope. Stress relief man. All stress relief." She takes another hit and he watches her face loosen and turn into a smile. "Fucking everything in this whole world gets broken sometimes. Inanimate objects never know it though. Full of cracks and the only people who care are the ones who can see it."  
  
He nods. Stoner logic, probably a conversation half in her head, and Dean just lets it ride. "I really want to come back."  
  
"Then do."


	12. Chapter 12

When he finally reaches the rendezvous point with Bobby Dean can't hide his nervousness. Can't even pretend.

  
Dean broaches the subject in the car because he doesn’t want Bobby to find out the truth in front of John. Bobby takes it as well as Dean expected him too. When the shouting finally ends, when Bobby's face isn’t red and twisted with anger anymore, Dean waits for the older hunter to start asking questions. He doesn’t disappoint.  
  
“What did she summon?”  
  
“I don’t know. Whatever it was it sure knew a hell of a lot.” Dean glances Bobby's way one time and sees that he’s turned to look out the passenger window. “I haven’t read it all yet.”  
  
Bobby nods but doesn’t judge him out loud. Knows what had Dean’s attention this last day. What _still_ kind of does. There’s silence for about a hundred miles, and then Bobby asks where the notes are and Dean tells him. Bobby digs them out, starts flipping through them, and there are brief glimpses of fond and soft smiles mixed in with that screwed up look of concentration that always comes with a tug to his cap's brim. Finally he talks again, and the voice carries no trace of anger at all. Instead Bobby sounds hesitant and unsure. “Boy, you really haven’t read all this?”  
  
“Nope. Was a little busy.” Dean takes a turn off the highway and studies the roads. They’re maybe three hours away from John and making damn good time. They should be in the little Wyoming town early, and Dean’s glad for that. It’ll make up for the shock he’s about to give his father’s system.  
  
He feels a finger tap his shoulder and turns to meet crinkled brown eyes. “Pull over Dean.” Dean does, doesn’t ask questions because he knows Bobby doesn't make that kind of request lightly.  
  
Bobby holds out the notes carefully and he taps an underlined passage. This isn’t the part Dean skimmed over earlier, the summary is still several pages away. Instead Bobby has gone to the raw data, her sloppy hand-writing and indecipherable organizational system evident everywhere Dean looks. He finds the beginning of the sentence and reads it slowly and carefully.  
  
 _“Demon’s target mother or baby? Why either?”_   Written beside that in a slant worse than before and a different color of ink Dean finds. _“Hel says baby was the target and still_ _is_ _. Laughed at assertion that younger Winchester was dead. Did they find bones? Not accident but demonic kidnapping?”_  
  
There’s no blood in Dean’s head, his fingers shake as he holds the notes so tightly he’s dimly afraid they’ll rip. Bobby goes to take them but Dean growls wordlessly and read the words another five times 'til they’ve fully sunk in. His eyes catch one more passage lower on the page. _“How could JW miss SW’s body being gone? Somebody's full of shit. Either he knows more or Azazel does. Hel says summoning Azazel too dangerous.”_  
  
Dean remembers the night of the fire, the way he pulled against his father’s strong arms and screamed Sammy’s name ‘til his little throat was hoarse and raw. He remembers the burned out look in his father’s eyes as he stared at the wreckage of the place. Watched Sam’s accidental pyre burn to the ground. He doesn’t remember though if there were bones in those ashes, if they even looked, and the thought is odd because they _should_ have looked. If for no other reason than to give what was once the center of Dean’s world a proper resting place.  
  
Bobby clears his throat and brings Dean out of his musings. The other man gently disengages his fingers from the papers and takes them before smoothing them out. He gives Dean time, and Dean has to exit the car and take deep breaths of the cool autumn air before he can find the strength to walk away from the car. He takes several steps, sinks to his knees, and starts to gag up the diner food he had only a few hours before. He knows the thing she summoned was right. It had to be. Because hasn’t he always thought it should hurt more? That he should feel emptier at the memory of Sam? Instead there’s been this lingering feeling, this place in the back of his head that shouted to him that Sam was waiting somewhere for Dean to come to him.  
  
He’s put it off for years as reckless hope, something undying inside of him that started the night they brought his baby brother home. The night his mother said Sammy was _his_ , and goddamn but his eyes want to weep. He bites back the tears, holds them in, and considers the possibility that for twenty-four years his baby brother has been in the hands of demons. Where is he now? Being tortured? Twisted? Is he a broken and weeping thing or has the genetic stubbornness passed through the Winchester blood held him up all these years?  
  
Dean can’t stand either thought, Sam defiant or Sam broken, his baby brother so small and tender that he needed Dean to cuddle against him at night so he wouldn’t scream and wail with fear. He’s pictured what his brother would look like more than once in his quiet, down moments. Shorter than Dean, fragile and lean in his mind’s eye, with their mother’s up-turned eyes and dark blonde hair, dad’s chin. He imagines Sam would be gentle, smile often, and look to Dean with admiration and love because if Dean hadn’t failed Sam then he would have spent his entire life _never_ failing him. That faulty switch in Dean, the thing that made him fuck-up that time and every time after it, would never have been flipped and Dean would have protected Sam against the world he’d been brought into the night of the fire.  
  
 _Azazel_. It’s the name of everything Dean has spent his entire life hating, every monster he’s killed was just a build-up to knowing this name so he could track it and kill it. Now he’s got it, got a name, got a target, but more importantly he has hope. Because Sam is still alive. Still out there somewhere and _Dean can find him_. Dean can save him. Nothing else matters at this point, Dean’s focus is clear and sharp as he wipes his face with a fist full of grass and spits the taste out of his mouth. His brother is out there and Dean may not be as good a hunter as his father but he’s one of the best. If it moves, if it acts, Dean can find it. So he’ll find Sam first, and then let his little brother watch him kill the thing that took him. He has a feeling, a strong intuition, that if he can find Azazel he can find Sam.  
  
When he gets back in the car Bobby silently holds a water bottle out to him and he uses it to rinse his mouth and then drink deeply. They don’t speak again after he starts the Impala back up.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
Sam stays on campus all morning and then goes to work with Ophelia. He’s too nervous to let her go alone, and he’s not excited about the prospect of returning to his empty bed. He watches her banter with repeat customers, play the hard-ass with new ones, and mock a local tough guy that cries through his cross tattoo. She argues with Tommy about the music, and demands Sam weigh in. When Ruby shows up and Ope takes her back to the booth Sam can see the tightness in Ope's shoulders. He doesn't get a chance to ask the girl anything before she's gone, and he goes back to his book.  
  
He lets his mind wander even as he occasionally flips a page in his book to look busy. Where’s Dean by now? Sam hasn’t heard from him and it’s starting to make him nervous. There’s a chance Dean is still on the road, it hasn’t been sixteen hours yet, but for some reason he thought he’d at least have gotten a text message by now. Ophelia taps his shoulder when it’s time to leave, and that’s when Sam realizes how distracted he was. Ruby is standing behind her with a broad smile.  
  
“Hey Tiger. Studying hard huh?” Ruby’s tone is warm, overly familiar, and it makes Sam want to duck out. Instead he feels Ophelia’s fingers slide into his even as he stands and uses his other hand to sweep the book closed and into his bag.  
  
“Yeah. Just trying to keep up with it. What are you doing here?” Sam keeps his voice light and distant. It’s a good way to put people off usually but it doesn’t work this time.  
  
“I've wanted to get a tattoo forever. Something that really captures me you know?” She turns and lifts her shirt to show him the butterfly tattoo she's apparently just gotten at the base of her spine.  
  
Sam smiles dutifully even as he feels the smaller hand in his tighten sharply. Ope’s face never changes though. “Because nothing says beautiful and unique snowflake like a uniform tramp stamp.” She leans against his chest and he lets go of her hand to reflexively grip her waist with his arm. She’s laying the act on a little thick and it confuses the hell out of Sam. “But hey, you picked it out of the fucking book and I did it, so who am I to judge right?”  
  
“See you tomorrow Ruby.” Ope is practically dragging him out the door as the blonde says her own goodbye. Once they’re a fair distance outside of the building and headed for the Jeep Sam speaks again. “What was that all about?”  
  
Ophelia doesn’t bother turning around. Lights a cigarette and fumbles with her keys before getting the button pushed to unlock the doors. “She's a bitch.” When she looks up the lights remind Sam of his dream, of her being grabbed and choked, and then the flash is gone and it’s just her placid face as she gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car.  
  
When he’s settled she pulls out of the empty parking lot and Sam fiddles with the strap of his backpack so he has time to consider his words carefully. “She’s not that bad. A little flirty but ok.”  
  
Ophelia drives slowly, smoothly, her eyes cutting to the mirror and back to the road constantly without ever passing over Sam. “She’s after you. Be careful.” There’s a weight here he can’t fully understand.  
  
“Ope, what is this? Jealousy? ‘Cause that would be weird.” He tries to make it light and fails.  
  
Ophelia glances at him now and her tone is dry. “Yes Sam. I am very jealous of the bottle blonde bitch who paid me twice the going rate to put permanent ink on her that she didn't even want. 'Cause I could never dream of having such good decision making skills.” She extinguishes the cigarette in the ashtray and turns on the road that will take them home. Sam absorbs it all for several long minutes.  
  
“What’s going on here?” She glances his way again and there’s a flash of guilt at the sound of his voice.  
  
“Ah Sam, shit man I’m sorry. It’s been a rough day for you and I’m not helping.” Her fingers rub at her temple, and then she turns into the driveway and speeds down it before parking in front of the house and turning to properly face him. “I’m tired Sam. I’m tired and being a bitch and you don’t deserve that. Just got a lot on my mind right now. I don’t like the idea of that girl flirting with you because I like the idea of _Dean_ flirting with you. Does that make any sense?”  
  
She looks so desperate for his understanding and forgiveness that Sam touches her hair once gently before leaning in to hug her. “Ok. I get it. It’s cool.” She allows him to hold her for a little bit, longer than she normally would at times like this, and then she pulls back and opens the door. It’s the first time Sam sees the bandage around her left palm and the ones wrapping the fingers above it. “What happened to your hand?”  
  
She looks down at it for a long moment and then responds with her eyes still focused on the white wrap. “Played the candle game a little too long. Minor burns.”  
  
He follows her inside and makes sure she’s in bed and gone to sleep before he showers and goes to his own empty bed. He stares at it for a long time before he finally lies down and pulls the covers over himself. The house is silent, and Sam stares at his phone until his eyes feel gritty. Finally he types in a small message, his giving in to the need to have some contact. _Ope says next time you come make sure your car doesn’t leak on her grass._ It’s a dig instead of an endearment, but it has the message he wants Dean to get but can’t make himself say. _Come back to me._  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
It’s three days before Dean responds, and Sam feels like he’s crawling in his own skin until his phone vibrates in his pocket in the middle of class. Sam never checks his messages mid-lecture, but the professor isn’t paying attention and he can’t help himself. He flips it open to see Dean’s response. _Tell her when I come back she can apologize for insulting my Baby._ It’s the best response he could have gotten. Dean got his message and responded in kind. _I’ll come back_. It’s all he needs, and he can focus on the lecture in a way he couldn’t before. The Cisco test is in a few weeks, Sam’s trudging through the paperwork necessary for graduation, and he’s just now realizing the weight that’s been on his shoulders. The fear that Dean lied about wanting to stay, to come back, about wanting _Sam_.  
  
He runs into Ruby after class and tries to keep a proper distance in between them. Ruby’s face is bright and joyful at the sight of him. “Hey Sam. I was wondering if you had plans for Halloween? I’m going to this party and I think you should come with me.”  
  
He shook his head as he spotted Ophelia waiting at the end of the hallway for him. Her eyes rested heavily on Ruby. “I have a long standing promise to Ophelia. Sorry.” He moves away and grabs Ope’s arm before leading her out of the hall. She doesn’t say anything about Ruby, doesn’t mention the look on Sam’s face, just lets herself be pulled to the car.  
  
She drives them to one of the many nature trails in the area and they walk for a long time before she breaks the silence. “Dean got in contact?” Her fingers are testing the air, moving slowly but nimbly as she studies the clouds above them.  
  
“Yep.” He leaves it at that. She knows the response was good, knows that Dean’s promised to come back, and she doesn’t seem to need to pry right now.  
  
“Ok. So I was thinking foreign flicks this year. What do you think?” She’s finally gotten the bulk of the work on the back piece that was plaguing her done, and that's cut back considerably on her workload. Sam’s found that she’s not good at waiting for the final product once she gets started. She fidgets sometimes now that it’s outlined on the man's back, moves around a lot, and he keeps sending speculative glances towards the places he knows had the worst cuts.  
  
“Foreign? What kind of foreign?” He turns around and she follows, heading back towards the car.  
  
“Japanese Sam. I’m never making you watch another Korean film in this lifetime.” He grins at her and then speeds up just to watch her half-jog to catch up. She can’t keep up with his long legs easily.  
  
“That movie was terrible.”  
  
“You’re not qualified to make that decision tech geek.”  
  
“I’m qualified to do a lot of things ink junkie.” He feels her small hand slap his bicep and he slows down so she doesn’t strain herself. They fall into step easily, long years of practice, and then he tilts his face up to study the clouds. It’s good to be out here, good to stretch and breathe, and the cold air around him is no deterrence against staying outside. It might snow tonight if the temperature keeps dropping.  
  
They drive back and Sam listens to her sing along with the stereo, voice just as slightly off-key and pleasant as always. It’s all so normal, so familiar, and it holds a promise. _I’ll come back_.  
  
He feels more untethered with each passing day. It’s strange because life is speeding along well, Sam’s excelling in his classes and having a fine time with Ophelia, but there’s something missing. Something oddly man-shaped, and Sam hates that he feels this way because he should be flying high right now.  
  
It’s a few weeks after Dean leaves that Sam has the first nightmare, wakes gasping and alone in bed with the image of a man with yellow eyes staring at him. He crosses through every room in the house checking the salt lines Dean finally explained to him and making sure each one is perfect. He goes through Ope’s last, knowing he’ll wake her by entering and not surprised when her waking is indicated by her simply gesturing to him to join her in bed and go back to sleep.  
  
The next time he has the nightmare he wakes screaming. The yellow-eyed man pouring Brady’s drug of choice down his throat. Sam’s eyes losing their color again, turning black as they did before, and he wakes to Ophelia’s panic as she tries to soothe him. Each of these dreams is followed by migraines, vomiting, and sometimes they include Dean and Ophelia screaming in pain, tortured and begging, and Sam’s the one doing it. He can’t describe them to her and he doesn’t try. They last for the entirety of November, and then halfway through December they abruptly stop.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean feels off in his own skin. Stretched so tight and thin he can barely handle it. His father’s reaction to the notes from Ophelia wound him up so tight even now he can’t calm down. He expected anger, despair, something other than getting lectured about asking a civilian to summon a Norse Goddess. John Winchester has never been predictable, but when he takes off in search of a gun Dean’s never heard of and leaves Dean and Bobby to handle a Nixie in Colorado Dean wonders if his father isn’t losing touch.  
  
They’ve thought they were the only Winchesters left for so long that it’s hard to imagine another one. Harder still to imagine John doesn’t want to rush out and find him. Sam is his son too after all, and finding the gun first seems like a waste of time. So after the Nixie is finished Dean starts hunting Sam, and takes Bobby along for the ride.  
  
He can’t help that every second he’s not focused on the hunt he’s playing out scenarios of the reunion between them. He imagines that his brother might be angry, might hate him, and that’s ok. Dean deserves to be hated. He’s ignored the belief, the gut instinct, that Sam is alive for twenty-four years and his gut has proven to rarely be wrong. He plans apologies, explanations, excuses, and ends them all with the image of hugging his little brother tightly to him. After all these years he can still smell the soft little boy he held those nights, the baby powder and plastic of the diapers, the formula and innocence of him. In his fantasies Sam still smells that way even now after all this time has passed.  
  
He wonders what his brother will say when he finds out Dean is involved with someone of the same name. A male someone who is tall and lean and haunts Dean's dreams. He has to work hard to divorce the two names in his head, to think of one as _that_ Sam and one as Sam his brother.  
  
It’s desperation and determination that drive Dean to the city that holds the burned out husk of a house, long since destroyed and now an empty lot full of glass and half-dead grass. He pushes himself hard to be as charming as possible with every witness that he finds, every person involved with the fire and the short stay he had in the hospital due to smoke inhalation. When none of it turns up leads Dean goes to psychics the Winchesters know are legitimate, and gets little more than sad looks and sympathetic pats on the shoulder. The leads are all cold and dead, and Dean realizes there’s only one person who’s crossed that line before and came out with information.  
  
He parts company with Bobby in Kentucky, lets the other hunter out near where his car is stored and promises to keep in touch. He makes sure every few nights he sends Sam, _that_ Sam, a message and now the one he sends is more hopeful than any he’s sent before. _Coming back_. Every now and then his hand will stray to the gray lines, sensation still dulled but none of the other side effects.  
  
He drives half way without stopping for more than fuel and gas station sandwiches. When he comes out on the other side of the Appalachians he can feel the miles ticking off in his head, his heart torn between excitement to see _that_ Sam and the need to find his baby brother.  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam’s practically twitching with need when he gets the message. He’s taken his last final, and bought his cap and gown although he’s not excited about the prospect of walking. It’s another milestone that requires family to celebrate and Ophelia’s the closest thing he has to that. Loki swears he's showing up with bells and whistles, and Sam half hopes he will even as he hisses at the hacker not to. Ope is the one who forces him to buy the damn accessories, to reserve his spot in the line-up. He’s graduating with University Honors, _summa cum laude_ , and she keeps telling everyone from the grocery store clerks to random strangers on the street. It’s December, bitterly cold, and Sam’s getting ready for Christmas in style.  
  
He’s happy, almost done with school, he’s about to receive his certification, and _Dean_ is coming back. He decorates the tree with Ophelia, nodding along to the Christmas music she’s playing and reaching up easily to place the star at the top of the tree. She puts colored lights around his shoulders and he laughs so hard there are tears in his eyes. They walk campus together like conquering heroes, her with her "this is _my brilliant friend_ " and him with his certification and honors. He sees Ruby once or twice, but he’s already left the part-time gig at the help desk in favor of looking for career placement. The usual joy on the blonde’s face is slipping with each interaction, and Ophelia begins a campaign of vicious hostility now that Sam no longer works with the girl.  
  
Dean sends a message that states he’s crossed the Maine border, and Sam sits in the kitchen with his fingers tapping the wood and an unread book in front of him. Ophelia flits in and out, cheeks rosy from shoveling the porch at one point and a look of amusement playing over her face. At some point Sam hears her light a fire in the fireplace and mutter at the size of it discontentedly. When he hears the knock at the living room door he gets up, starts to move, and then stops himself. He hears Ophelia laugh, the door open, and then her voice insisting Dean come in out of the cold. “We’re gonna have to get you a key. Good to see you again Dean.”  
  
“You too sweetheart.” The voice is just as he remembers it, low and rough, sex personified. He twitches once towards it, holds himself still, and then gives in. When he crosses into the living room he finds the two of them hugging, and then Dean lets her go and she steps aside quickly.  
  
Dean has a cut in his eyebrow, small but noticeable, and Sam stares at it for several minutes before he realizes that they’re simply looking at one another. Dean is just as handsome as he remembers, breathtakingly so, and Sam knows that what came before is just the prelude to something much deeper. Time and distance haven’t dimmed his attraction to Dean, he wasn’t just romanticizing their time together, this is something real and unavoidable.  
  
There’s a brief flare of fear and then it’s gone and Sam’s crossing the room and wrapping his arms around Dean before the older man can speak. He leans down, buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and inhales deeply of Dean’s scent, unchanged in his time away. He hears Dean laugh softly, and then he’s being pulled in tightly by the older man’s arms. “Did you get bigger Sasquatch?”  
  
“Been working out.” He mumbles it against Dean’s skin and hears the sharp inhale when his lips brush the tender spot beneath Dean’s ear.  
  
“As attractive a sight as this is boys, I’m gonna run to the store. I’ll be gone a long time.” She’s gone before Sam can think of a response. He just keeps his arms around Dean’s solid weight and feels completely anchored for the first time in over a month. The messages have been sparse and each with more time between them, but the subtext of them hasn’t missed Sam’s attention. He pulls back just enough to capture Dean’s mouth, and then the joy of reunion is overwhelmed by lust. He’s pulling and shoving Dean towards the bedrooms, mouth moving constantly and hands shaking as he pushes at the leather jacket almost angrily.  
  
Somehow Sam gets them into the bedroom without permanent damage, although they’ve banged into a corner or two on the way. They’re ripping layers off of each other, Sam cursing the snow for making so many clothes necessary, and then when they’re naked he feels the inferno of Dean’s skin and gasps harshly when Dean goes down on him.  
  
He’s got his fingers tangled in Dean’s short hair, rubbing at the older man’s skull even as he’s trying to remind himself not to push, not to demand. There aren’t words for how good it feels, but Sam tries anyway. His lips feel numb as they spill out a constant stream of helplessness. “Dean-fuck please-missed-oh god _please_.”  
  
He’s spiraling out of control so fast his legs give out halfway through and he falls backwards on the bed while Dean follows him down. Fingers slicked with saliva slide into him and Sam arches once at the burn of it and keeps pleading, begging for more of Dean’s heat and need and god the man’s mouth is just _too much_.  
  
Dean pulls back before Sam loses it entirely, wet fingers sliding out of his hole and tracing along his balls before gripping Sam’s hips and rolling him over. Sam shakes his head, fights Dean, but he can’t articulate that he needs to see that face, those eyes, when they come together again. Somehow Dean gets it, struggles through the nightstand to find the lube and takes care of the last of the prep before he’s falling to the bed beside Sam and urging Sam with hot hands to move over, straddle him.  
  
It’s not a position Sam’s familiar with, but when Dean slides into him at this angle his prostate gets hit immediately and he arches his back and practically screams Dean’s name. He can see bruises forming on Dean’s side from where his hands are, and he’s not able to even manage the nonsense from before. Instead he listens to Dean talk while he moans.  
  
“Sam. Sam. _Sammy_. Missed you too. Missed this. Christ so-so goddamn good.” Dean’s thrusting, hips stuttering, and he keeps going, slapping Sam’s hand away from his cock gently every time he reaches for it. “Like this Sam, just like this. Come on baby. For me.”  
  
It’s too much, the term of endearment and the sound of Dean’s voice, and the feel of his skin, mixed with the smell of him and Sam’s coming undone, eyes full of something like tears as his head snaps back and he hits peak. Dean’s fingers bruising his own hips as he follows Sam over the edge with a guttural cry.  
  
They come down together, Sam breathing against Dean’s collarbone like he’s finished a race, and then Dean squeezing him tight and laughing softly into his hair. “Damn Sam. You must have really missed me.”  
  
The tone is gentle, amused, fond, and Sam can’t help the way he tears up when he nods.”Yeah. A lot.”  
  
It’s everything he hoped for, fantasized, dreamed of. It’s silly, childish and girly, but this is what he was missing all those nights and he’s crying a little over finally having it again. Because in his heart of hearts Sam never really believed Dean would come back.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
Sam wakes to Ophelia calling the two of them, shouting the word dinner from the hallway. Dean rouses so quick it’s frightening, pulling his clothes back on and catching Sam’s eyes with a wide grin. “Come on Sammy. Dinner time.”  
  
He’s out the door before Sam can get out of the bed, and when he reaches the kitchen he sees that Ophelia has brought back fast food. Double cheeseburgers and fries for her and Dean, grilled chicken salad for Sam and he sits down and digs in. He’s glad to watch the two of them laughing with each other over his food choices, devouring their own meals and talking about the last few weeks. When she tells Dean proudly about Sam’s academic achievements the green eyes land on him, sparkling with mirth.  
  
“Well look at that. Brains and looks. How’d I get so lucky?” It’s said in a purring voice, flirtatious and light, but there’s an undertone Sam can’t miss and he feels his cheeks redden.  
  
Ophelia nods sagely and looks over at Sam. “Our boy has low fucking standards.”  
  
The look Dean shoots her is mock offended, and Sam laughs around a mouthful of water and then receives the lumps on his back from Dean when he chokes.  
  
When dinner is over she looks around the kitchen and then lights a cigarette. She leans back and points to Sam seriously. “You gotta go get that phone call over with Sammy. It’s time.”  
  
Sam looks at her for a long moment, nods, and then stands to take the trash from his meal to the can. Dean’s studying him seriously now. “What phone call is this?”  
  
Sam glances once to Ophelia and then back to Dean. “I have to assure the private investigator that I want my past uncovered. Apparently signing forms wasn’t enough.” He’s hesitant to say it really, because he’s not discussed with Dean his interest in finding the people who abandoned him. It was meeting Dean after all that pushed him to try, and Ophelia’s promised to handle all of it as his Christmas present. He knows from the tree she broke her promise and bought him things too.  
  
Dean’s eyes go soft and then distant. “To find your family?” There a strange note there, distant and wistful, _sad_ , and Sam watches Ophelia’s eyes sharpen in Dean’s direction but she stays silent.  
  
“Yeah. I’ll only be a few minutes.” He slips out of the kitchen and heads for the bedroom. He’s got the number she gave him, and it takes three tries to dial it properly. The phone rings twice before a rough voice answers on the other end. Sam pictures a man with white hair and a grizzled face.  
  
 _“Thompson Agency. How can I help you?”_  
  
Sam takes a deep breath and then answers slowly. “This is Sam Burton. I’m calling because my friend-“  
  
 _“Ophelia Burton? Looking for your parents?”_ The voice is clipped, a man of few words, and Sam’s honestly comforted by that.  
  
“Yeah. I was supposed to call and give you permission to start the investigation.”  
  
He hears a clink in the background, liquid being poured, and then the voice comes back deep and sure. _“Yes. Are you sure you wanna do this kid? Might not like the answers.”_  
  
“I’m sure.” Sam takes a steadying breath and then nods once as if the detective can see it. “I need to know why.”  
  
 _“Ok kid. Your friend’s dollar and all. I’ll contact her when I have something.”_ The phone cuts off and Sam puts it down and leans against his desk.  
  
He has no idea how long these things usually take, or what it will do, but he’s both exhilarated and frightened by the prospect of knowing, really knowing, for the first time in his life.  
  
When he comes back out into the kitchen he hears two female voices, one angry and the other smooth and calm.  
  
“I’m just here to see Sam. You can’t-“  
  
“I certainly fucking can. I own this house. In roughly six seconds I'm gonna own this house and your skanky ass.”  
  
He comes around the corner to find Ophelia standing in the kitchen doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, and Ruby standing across from her with narrowed eyes. Dean’s following the argument with that intense focus of his. Sam steps up, moves Ophelia gently aside, and steps out to speak to Ruby closing the door behind him.  
  
“Hey Ruby, What’s going on?”  
  
“She really hates me huh? Geez, what did I ever do to her?”  
  
Sam has to shake his head. “Ruby? How can I help you? This isn’t the best time.”  
  
Grey-green eyes take him in for a second and then she smiles hesitantly. “I see you have company. Who is that?”  
  
“A friend of mine. Dean. What’s going on Ruby?” He doesn’t want to be short or harsh with her, honestly feels kind of bad because she’s a nice girl, but he needs to get inside and do damage control.  
  
She tilts her head and peers through the glass kitchen door before turning back to Sam and pulling a small box out of her pocket. It’s wrapped brightly, a present, and Sam hesitates to take it. She shakes it once and smiles sadly. “Come on Sam. It’s just a little something for all the times you helped me out on the desk. Merry Christmas.”  
  
He takes it, gives her a hug, and exchanges email addresses with her. He doubts he’ll write back if she writes in the first place, and he knows he’ll never see her again. For a reason he can’t explain that gives him some measure of relief.  
  
When he steps back inside Ophelia is waiting, tapping a foot, and Dean’s eyes are narrowed. _Jealous_. Sam is stupidly pleased to see it, and a coil of heat in his stomach tells him that this is a really good look on Dean. Ophelia glances once at the gift, once through the door, and then she throws her hands up and leaves the room silently. Sam will fix it later. In the meantime he steps forward and plants a kiss on Dean’s lips, tastes the older man, and drops the gift in his eagerness to coax Dean out of his funk.  
  
It turns out that isn’t too hard.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean waits 'til Sam is asleep before he slips out of the bed and finds her in the living room sitting next to the Christmas tree. There’s a beer clutched loosely in one hand and her phone in the other. She looks up briefly from her texting and then goes back to it, sliding the phone shut when she’s done.

  
“You want to find your brother.” It’s a statement and Dean nods. He watches her warily until she smiles once, sad and slow. “Changed your mind about me summoning shit?”  
  
He pauses, considers, and then decides. He’s putting her in a lot of danger and now he's going back on his threats to beg, and he doesn’t know if she’ll agree. She deserves better, and Dean knows it, but his brother has to come first. Before her, and before the naked man waiting for him in the bedroom. He sits on the couch across from her and watches her drop the phone and light a cigarette. “I’m gonna be there when you do it to make sure you come out of it ok. I’m sorry Ophelia, it’s not fair but…he’s my brother. They’ve had him for years.”  
  
She looks once towards the doors and then back at Dean. “Sam can’t be a part of it. I’ll have to call something other than Hel. After last time she made that perfectly clear, and she only has dominion over death. We’ll need something with knowledge, access to secrets. I’m going to need a little time.” She pauses here and finishes off her beer. “Plus I’d be fucking overjoyed if you stayed for Christmas. It’s Sam’s birthday and you’ll be here for his graduation. It would mean a lot to him.”  
  
Dean realizes instantly that this is her price for risking her own safety. _Sam’s happiness_. It’s the kind of thing he’s always imagined he’d do for his little brother, and he’s oddly touched to see it. They’re not blood, but she may as well be Sam’s big sister. Sam’s protection against evil, and unlike Dean she hasn’t failed. He nods once and then holds her gaze steadily. “I woulda done that anyway.”  
  
“No you wouldn’t.” Her look is briefly sad and wistful. “Not if I got your answer. I’d have thought less of you if you did. Shouldn’t you be in bed with Sammy?”  
  
He points to her phone. “Loki?”  
  
“Fuck you.” She smiles though, open and sweet, and there's a twinkle to her eyes. “Claims he's headed here by dogsled. Fucking lunatic wants to spend Christmas here.”  
  
“I can't imagine why.” It's dry and she gives him the finger. Dean thinks of his own Christmases, spent alone with microwaveable meals in motel rooms when he was too young to hunt. When he was old enough he went with John, and they spent their time fixing other people’s lives for the holidays. He dimly remembers a time when he was very young and they had a tree like the one in front of him, but that time is hard to think of. Hard to hold on to.  
  
Her gaze is focused, narrow, and he knows she sees right through his train of thought. She leans into the chair and lets out a heavy breath. “Your brother, if he’s not batshit insane, what will you do with him?”  
  
Dean is dumbstruck. _Do_ with him? He’ll protect him, he’ll fix him, he’ll bring him along on…but he can’t. Can’t bring his baby brother on hunts because his brother has no training. Has spent his life being hurt. Dean can’t expose him to that any more. He hasn’t really thought that part out, and it occurs to him that he should have. “I don’t know.”  
  
She nods once and puts out her cigarette. “We have an extra bedroom.” She gets up before Dean can respond, lays a hand on his shoulder for half a second and then heads back through the door leading to the bedrooms. He considers the possibility. It’s safer here than on the road with Dean. She and Sam would protect his brother, watch out for him, and he’d be given a normal life in a stable home. Dean could visit, stay for long periods of time. See both Sams at once and know that they were ok.  
  
It brings him back to the trouble with _this_ Sam. Dean’s too attached and he knows it, drawn in too quickly and deeply with no logic behind it. It’s not just lust, not just the body although that has only gotten better in his time away. Sam’s not joking about working out, he’s building muscle mass rapidly and Dean’s surprised at how big the guy has gotten. He still hunches in, still holds himself smaller, but the size of him is incredible.  
  
It’s this pull, drawing on him like his soul is crying out to Sam and Sam’s is responding. It scares him a little, the power the man already has over him. It’s unprecedented. Dean knows he needs to pull back but he can’t make himself. Is afraid any attempt to do so will lose him everything. He sits in the living room for a long time before he pushes himself up and leaves to rejoin Sam.  
  
The covers have been kicked off Sam’s legs, and he pulls them back over before sliding in beside the big body. Sam’s flesh is cold, and Dean winces when the legs wrap around him and suck in his heat. He stays there though, waits for Sam to warm up, because there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. His brother could stay here. It’s a good option. Dad would have to agree though.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Sam finds Ophelia in the kitchen the next morning, Dean still fast asleep in the bed behind him. He watches her move through morning stretches before he joins her. It’s too icy outside to run on the road so they have to stretch now and then drive out to the nature trail nearby and run on the dirt. They don’t speak as they stretch, but she brushes against him briefly to let him know she’s not angry anymore.  
  
The ride there is filled with some man wailing, Sam doesn’t recognize it, but Ophelia’s eyes get distant and hazy as she hums along. They start the warm-up jog, and then they’re flying through the cold air and along the tree-lined path. There’s ice hanging everywhere and snow piled deep around them. Sam can’t believe how beautiful the world is like this, frozen and encased in ice. It’s hard to compare it to the warm winters in Texas. He loves it like this, the only sound the rustling of their clothes and their sharp breaths as they cut through the chill. He warms up, starts to sweat, and feels the breeze freeze it on his face. It’s glorious really.  
  
When they reach the Jeep he feels more alive than he has in a long time. Ophelia’s here, Dean’s in bed, his friend is coming, and Sam is pumping with adrenaline and aching to go farther and faster. Still he knows he needs to quit because Ope has to be at her limit, and he gets in without complaint. They ride back still silent, and he feels a thrill when the Impala is still sitting in the yard under a tree, fresh snow resting on it and hiding some of its gleam.  
  
Dean’s awake, coffee brewed, and offers Sam a cup filled with sugar and Sam’s flavored creamer. Sam can’t help it, lets the joke pass his lips before he considers the weight of it. “Damn I love you.”  
  
Dean’s eyes catch his, one brow quirked, and Sam stops dead in his tracks with the cup in his hand and his heart double-timing in his chest, faster than the peak of the run. Because it's true. It's a joke, but it's true, and Sam knows it in the same moment it's out of his mouth, knows it's on his face, and _this is too fucking fast_. “I’m-it was-Jesus I-“  
  
Ophelia steps in smoothly and takes his cup before taking a sip. She makes a face, puts it on the table instead of in Sam’s limp hand, and frowns softly. “Take it back Sam. Guy can’t measure sugar for shit.” She pats his back once sharply and he jumps. “Go shower, you smell awful.”  
  
Sam turns away from Dean and puts his focus on her, willing his face to be as composed as hers. “Like you smell better.”  
  
“Ladies don’t sweat Sam. We glow. And I smell like fucking roses.” Her expression is amused, simple, like she's not trying to dig him out of this mess. Sam can’t meet Dean’s eyes.  
  
“You’ve always said you’re not a lady.” His voice is still unsteady, embarrassed, but he can feel Dean’s gaze and he can’t seem to move. She pushes him once with her usual lack of gentleness.  
  
“Get out of the damn kitchen Sam. Shower. Now.” He stumbles and then exits. Grace and dignity destroyed in equal measures.  
  
He’s just lathered up the washcloth when the bathroom door opens and he sees the outline of Dean through the glass. Somehow Sam manages to repress the groan and holds himself very still as he looks at Dean’s shape through the translucent door.  
  
“It’s ok Sam. It was a joke. I know.” His voice says he doesn’t, that he believes Sam meant it and to be honest he should. The problem is they just met, they’ve got this weird physical thing but they’re not dating. Dean’s never asked him out, never suggested he wants more than for Sam to be here when he gets here. He knows Dean feels something for him, but it’s too damn early for this to be love. Too early but Sam knows it is for him.  
  
That frightens him more than anything really, because he thought he loved Brady and it was after he said it that things went downhill. It was love that made Sam so damn weak, and Dean has the same potential for violence as Brady even if Sam doesn’t believe Dean would hurt him on purpose. He’s too open like this, too vulnerable, and he tries to focus on washing the sweat off himself even as he’s working his mouth to formulate a response. “Yeah. A joke. Hey you should see if Ope needs help with the firewood ok?”  
  
Dean nods once, Sam sees the movement through the sliding door, and then Dean’s gone and Sam is left to hit his head against the tiles of the shower and wish he wasn’t such a woman about all this.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
Dean watches Ophelia load the cart with firewood and then he takes the handle from her and pulls it up the hill. She walks beside him and coughs harshly when she takes a drag. She gives the cigarette an ugly look and then glances around at the snow covered landscape. Dean waits for whatever she’s going to say, and she doesn’t disappoint.  
  
“Don’t hurt him.” She keeps her eyes away, focused on the trees, and Dean waits but there’s no more.  
  
“Ophelia-“  
  
“I said to call me Ope for Christ's sake. i hate that fucking name.” Her face is still serious and flat even as she takes a drag from the cigarette again and coughs some more.  
  
He starts to pull the cart again and focuses on the house ahead. The wood is heavy and he wonders how she thought she’d pull it herself. “Why do you hate it?”  
  
“My parents had a wicked sense of humor. It means ‘helper’. It’s also a character in a play that goes mad for love and grief and kills herself. So I’m a suicidal assistant.” She throws the cigarette out into the snow and walks ahead of him. “They didn’t really think that one through. Never expected it to turn out true.”  
  
He grabs at her elbow, lets the handle of the wagon drop and gets his grip so he can turn her around. There are tears glittering in her eyes and Dean doesn’t know why, can’t read the shift in her emotions at all. He raises an eyebrow and she shakes her head and looks upwards sharply.  
  
“I’d die for Sam. He loves you. By extension I’ll probably throw myself on a spike for you if it means Sam can be happy for another day. Please. I’m fucking begging you. If you don’t feel the same way don’t string him along. _Don’t hurt him._ ”  
  
Dean shakes his head once, a denial of what he doesn’t know, and then he pulls her in. She’s too strong for her own good, willing to break but not bend, and he holds her tightly for several long seconds before he feels her pull away. He’s beginning to recognize that her aversion to touching is even worse than his father’s. “I’m not gonna hurt him.” His voice is rough and he avoids her gaze. “I’m-yeah he’s- _shit_ this is hard.” Dean finally glances down and sees her bright eyes smiling even if the rest of her isn’t. It’s the first time it’s been her eyes and not her lips that show it.  
  
“You _love_ him too. Tell him fucktard.” She steps away, grabs the cart and starts pulling, and Dean follows silently and watches her struggle with it.  
  
When he gets inside the bathroom is empty and he finds Sam in nothing but a towel with his big hands hanging loosely between his thighs. His head is down, hair curly with the damp and hanging in his face, closed sign firmly in place. Dean kneels in front of him and lifts the hair up so he can see Sam’s eyes. “It wasn’t a joke.” Sam’s voice is heavy, thick, and it hurts Dean to hear it. He wants to pull Sam into a hug but he can’t break eye contact.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“It wasn’t a joke, and you can run if you want to or make fun of me or whatever but it’s true. There’s something, something here that I can’t-“ Sam gestures in between them and swallows hard. “I feel like I know you, like you’re safe and I haven’t felt that much in my lifetime. So say what you need to, I don’t need you to lie to me about how you-“  
  
He shuts Sam up with a kiss. He can’t say it yet, it’s too soon, but he feels it and he hopes Sam can feel it in the way he responds. They stay like that for a long time, lips pressed together and unmoving until the tension goes out of Sam’s body and Dean pulls back. He grabs warm clothes out of Sam’s dresser and throws them to him before leaning against the wall to watch Sam dress. As Sam’s pulling the first shirt on Dean points to his stomach. “How’d you get that?”  
  
Sam jerks once, glances down as if he has to check to see what Dean’s referring to, and then his face closes. _Brady then_. Question answered. He nods and crosses his arms before speaking again. “You loved him?”  
  
Sam glances up once, and Dean sees something he never expected. Sam is angry. Not a little but a lot, hot rage covering that beautiful face and making it sinister. Sam’s big, and Dean could put him down but he feels a shiver when he sees the expression. “Get out of my room.”  
  
It’s simple, final, and Dean steps out without arguing and closes the door behind him. He finds the kitchen and living room empty, goes downstairs to find Ophelia in a pile of books and notes. She looks up once and her face is questioning.  
  
He sits in front of her, fiddles with his fingers for a moment, and then takes a deep breath. “I made it worse.”  
  
She glances at her wristwatch and then back up at him. “It’s been, like, five minutes. What the fuck could you have possibly done?”  
  
“He told me it wasn’t a joke and I asked about his scar. Then I asked if he loved Brady.”  
  
She sucks in a sharp breath and Dean hears the Jeep roar to life outside and then take off. She glances that way once, then back to him, and then picks up a book and hands it to him. “We’re looking for any references to Jana or Janus.”  
  
Ope looks back down at the book in front of her, and Dean realizes it’s in Greek. “How many languages do you speak?” It’s a better question than the one he wants to ask. _How much trouble am I in_?  
  
“Five including English. I’m working on my sixth at the moment but it’s hard going. German sentence structure can be a bitch. Jeff was pretty loose with rules, but languages was a big hang-up.” She flips a page and highlights something. “And the answer is a lot. You basically threw the worst of his past in his face after he exposed himself to you. He’s gonna be mad for a while.”  
  
Dean stares at the book unseeingly and then slams it shut and drops it on the floor. He fists his hair and tries for calm. “Well how the fuck was I supposed to know? Everything throws his past in his face and he’s so goddamn touchy about-“  
  
She’s holding a hand up without shifting her glance. “Deep breath. You’re not being attacked and there’s no fucking reason to get defensive. Sam is touchy, but he’s fucking earned that. He spent too long taking beatings and not reacting. So get that anger out of your system right now because when he comes back you’re going to have to apologize whether you want to or not.” She flips several pages forwards and places a blue tab there before flipping back to where she was. “And eventually you’ll have to expose yourself because it’s damn unfair to make him the only vulnerable one. On the other hand this gives us an opening to work on that chest of yours.”  
  
Dean leans back into the ratty armchair and stares at the beams in the ceiling. “Is there a way to do this without saying it? It’s so fucking corny.” He doesn’t mean it, felt a thrill like he can’t explain when Sam said it, but he’s not sure he can tell Sam back no matter how he feels. She closes the book in front of her and pulls another one off the stack.  
  
“Sack up Dean. I’m looking for a way to find your brother.” Her voice has no heat, no accusation. The message is simple. _No. There isn’t._ Dean chews on that for a while and then lets it go.  
  
He watches her research for a while before picking his own book back up. As he’s flipping a question occurs to him. “Why’d you summon a Norse goddess the first time?”  
  
She keeps reading whatever she’s holding at the moment, her right hand writing in the notebook beside her without her looking at it. “She’s not worshiped much anymore so she’s willing to work for offerings, but she was kind of prickly about it. Powerful, knowledge of the dead and I wanted that, and she was less likely to lie than a demon.”  
  
“So who’s this one we’re looking up now?” Dean finds a reference to Janus, two-faced Roman god with dominion over transitions. He grabs at one of her stacks of tabs and marks the page.  
  
“Well the one we want is Jana although I’ll settle for Janus if I have to. She’s Etruscan, Janus’s consort, and she’s probably our best bet. Unless I just work on summoning Azazel.” Dean glances up rapidly and looks to see if she’s joking. She doesn’t appear to be.  
  
“Could you do that?”  
  
“I don’t know Dean. Summoning is a fickle fucking thing. The better question is would I want to.” She falls silent after that, and Dean lets her be silent and consider the option.  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
Sam ends up at the campus gym, and he changes into the clothes stored in his locker and heads straight for the weight room. At some point after Dean left the first time Sam realized that he needed to be stronger, better, because he has to protect Ophelia, but also because he’s no partner for Dean if he can’t protect himself. He doesn’t have that in mind at the moment though, all he wants is the burn of muscles and the mindless repetitions of the exercise. He takes the weight bench on first, and by the time he gets to the Lat Pulldown machine he’s covered in sweat again and his mind is clear.  
  
He feels guilty honestly, because Dean doesn’t know much of anything about his past and that’s _Sam’s_ fault not Dean’s. He can’t know what it was like to be in Brady’s grip, to feel the desperation Sam felt to be loved. He thought he loved Brady the way a junkie loves their fix, which is damn ironic all things considered. Now in hindsight’s 20/20 vision Sam knows he never really loved Brady, not even in that limited context, he just wanted something he thought was being offered to him.  
  
He started to realize that very fact a few months in to knowing Ope, when he looked up at the love shining out of her eyes and tried to kiss her. She let him, didn’t move when his hand covered her breast and his lips slanted, but she never kissed him back. She just held still. Sam had pulled back, begged her to just let him please her, not to leave, and she’d sat like a stone in front of him until he’d let it all out.  
  
When he was done she’d laid her lips once on his forehead, dry and chaste, and spoken against his skin. “Stop that. It’s not what I have to offer and it’s not what you want from me anyway.” Shortly afterwards Sam had gone through the difficult process of changing his last name. Had become her pseudo-brother. Ope had burned him a cake, and Jeff had hugged him once tight and hard. Sam had cried a lot that night.  
  
Sam staggered to the showers, he’d overdone it, and stood under the hot water for a long time until his screaming muscles relaxed a bit. He was almost limp when he got back in the car, and when he arrived home he found the two of them in the kitchen munching on sandwiches with candles sitting in between them. They were lit, and the air reeked of challenge and determination.  
  
“What the hell are you two doing?”  
  
Dean’s eyebrow quirked in his usual way and Ope smiled tightly. “About to have some kind of tolerance contest. First to pull away loses.” Dean's fingers flex once and his green eyes dip to the candle. “She’s going down.”  
  
Sam sat in between them and kept his eyes on Dean’s face. Saw the way Dean’s jaw tightened under his gaze. “You’ve made a horrible mistake Dean.”  
  
“Oh yeah? How’s that?” Dean rolled his shoulders and lifted both brows for a second, and Sam enjoyed the view. Enjoyed that they could apparently shrug the earlier trouble off like nothing happened. It probably wasn’t the healthiest way to handle things, but Sam didn’t feel like talking about any of it.  
  
“Did you bet her any money that you’d win?”  
  
Dean’s brow furrowed. “Yeah. Twenty bucks.”  
  
“Hey Ope, what's your record with this?” Sam felt the grin spread across his face. She’d done this more than once, brought some unwitting sucker into her game and then walked away with a seared palm and more money than she started with. He didn't approve of it, but he couldn't talk her out of it either.  
  
“Shut up. Don't give the game away.” Fond amusement laced through every note of her voice. Sam turned his eyes back to Dean and saw the troubled look had intensified.  
  
“She's not going to pull away. It won't happen.”  
  
Dean’s eyes narrowed and he frowned. “Are you saying I’ve been hustled Sammy?”  
  
“I’m saying that yes.” He couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him, and he didn’t miss the smile that twitched on Dean’s lips. “You may as well give up.”  
  
“Son of a bitch.” Dean growled it and then rolled his shoulders again, eyes traveling to the tiny flame. “I ain’t giving up on this. I could still win.”  
  
Ophelia’s grin was shit-eating, smug and broad. Real. “That’s what they all say.”  
  
Sam got up, left the room to get a pull-over and came back. Dean was shifting in his seat uncomfortably and their hands hand finally settled into the air above the flickering little flames. Ophelia looked perfectly comfortable.  
  
“You’re a damn robot aren’t yah?” Ophelia grinned at Dean’s words but didn’t respond. “Sam is she a robot?”  
  
“She might be. I’ve never checked.” He crossed to the fridge and started pulling out roast ingredients. Put the meat in to sear and chopped vegetables. “I know that in a minute you’re going to want to give up before this becomes something you’ll never live down.”  
  
“Add it to the list.” Dean’s fist clenched on the table and he leaned forward narrowing his eyes at her while his hand stayed steady above the candle. “I’m in no mood to lose today sweetheart.”  
  
“Then you should have never challenged me.” She tilted her head once and Sam couldn’t see her expression but he could picture it. Friendly and jovial, relaxed, she couldn’t care less how long this lasted.  
  
“Why don’t you like to be touched?” Dean’s voice was low, soothing, simple, and Sam raised an eyebrow and looked over from where he was chopping an onion. He’d never asked her that. She could touch him on a regular basis but when it came to him or others touching her…  
  
He should stop this. It had crossed the line from friendly competition to something else. When she responded her voice was light and easy. “Head games with me Dean? Really?”  
  
“Just a question. We’re gonna be here for a while, does talking seem like such a bad idea?” His voice had gone tight and hard.  
  
“Touching leads to feeling and fuck that noise. Why can’t you be open and affectionate?” Taunting, fearless, her tone sharp and low. Dean answered in kind.  
  
“Never been around it, don’t know how to do it right, everybody I love dies. Take your pick. When are you gonna admit you like Loki?”  
  
“When I'm worm food. What’s the worst thing you ever did?” Sam dropped the vegetables into the pan around the meat and crossed the room to stand at the side of the table in between them.  
  
“Hey guys, this isn’t sounding fun anymore. Why don’t we stop before-“  
  
“Left my little brother in that burning house. What about you?” Dean’s face is dangerous, tight, predatory. Sam could see a fat drop of sweat roll down his forehead, and his hand was starting to tremble. This has become a battle instead of a joke. Sam felt unease overcome him and he almost grabbed one or the other of them but he was frozen suddenly to the spot.  
  
“Told my parents they didn't love me if they denied me. Give up Dean. You can’t win everything.”  
  
“This a competition or a lesson sweetheart? ‘Cause I’m not the student type.” Dean’s hand clenched once, released, and the line of his shoulders became razor sharp.  
  
“Can’t it be both? Let’s up the stakes. I win, you confess. You win, I release you from your promise.”  
  
Now Sam was more than confused and uneasy, he felt like he’d gotten lost in an alternate reality. He had no way to put into context what they were saying, had fumbled and dropped the thread somewhere and he didn’t know if he wanted it back. He went back to the roast, covered it in foil and put it in the oven. Stood hesitantly for a time and studied Dean’s face.  
  
When Dean finally spoke it was deadly and quiet. “Agreed.”  
  
The battle went on for another full minute, and Sam sat by and watched quietly while the clock ticked and the roast cooked. It happened with no warning, no fanfare, and no transition. One minute Dean was staring at her like he’d strangle her if he could afford the movement. The next he was up, pushing his chair back and grabbing Sam’s elbow in a vice grip with his unburned hand. He pulled Sam up, pressed his lips against Sam’s ear, and choked out the words. His voice, _oh god his voice_ , was hard and sweet. Tender and hesitant all at the same time as if Dean was sure that using the words would earn him a blow. “I feel the same way.”  
  
Sam’s eyes searched Dean’s face for a long time, saw only earnest hope, and then he glanced towards Ophelia. She was rubbing at her hand, candles extinguished already, and somehow Sam knew she’d predicted this outcome, had planned for it. She stood wordlessly and left the kitchen, he could hear her heading into the basement, and then he moved his gaze back to Dean.  
  
“Why-what was-“He had to stop, pull back, rub at his temple. “What the fuck was that?”  
  
“My lesson. Come with me. I want to show you something.” Dean walked away, and Sam followed with a lead weight in his stomach and his heart double-timing it the whole way. He should be forcing the two of them to doctor their hands instead of whatever was happening here. They reached his bedroom and Dean pulled his shirt over his head and undid his belt buckle. Sam watched him strip, boots clunking heavily onto the floor, belt clinking, jeans slithering, and every sound seemed amplified and deafening. When Dean was done he reached into the nightstand and pulled out the half-empty lube bottle, threw it to Sam, and watched impassively when Sam caught it reflexively.  
  
“Fuck me.” The words were rough, thick, but the tone was more arousal than anger. Sam had to fight to understand if Dean meant what he thought he did, and then he looked down at the lube bottle before looking back up.  
  
Time was moving too fast again. Sliding out of control and Sam couldn’t grasp the whole of it. Something big was happening here. When his voice came out it was too small, too strangled, and he was worried Dean wouldn’t be able to understand him. He could barely understand himself. “I don’t- I’ve never done that.”  
  
Dean nodded once and then reached out, pulled Sam forward and brushed his lips against Sam’s jaw. “Me neither. Do it anyway. You know the steps.” And Sam did. Knew them very well because Dean had taught him but that didn’t change the fact that his hand had started shaking.  
  
When Dean lay down on the bed, spread his legs and caught Sam’s gaze the green was blinding, flecked with gold and burning through him. He opened the lube bottle, dropped it, picked it back up and squirted too much on his shaking fingers.  
  
The whole time the eyes just watched him, waited, and when Sam slid a hesitant finger into Dean’s heat he listened to the small noise, watched the shift of Dean’s hips, and felt himself go so hard he was certain it had to be medically impossible. He was amazed that Dean could stay aroused through his clumsy stretching, and it never occurred to him that some of the moans he was hearing were his own until he looked up to see Dean staring at him with his mouth closed even as the sounds continued.  
  
He took his time, worked slowly, until Dean growled above him and grabbed his wrist. “Sam. Fucking do it man. I’m dying here.”  
  
Sam nodded, pulled his fingers back and slicked his own cock. He was shaking so hard he missed the mark the first two times, Dean grunting and then cursing both times. When Sam finally found his target he pushed, and stopped halfway at the low noise that escaped the man beneath him. He held very still, afraid he’d done it wrong, afraid Dean was hurting too much, but mostly afraid that if he moved he’d never stop. The tight heat, the sensation of it, all new and perfect and Sam wanted more so bad he could taste blood in his mouth.  
  
So when Dean moved against him Sam started to thrust in earnest, bottomed out, pulled back and did it again.  He knew the minute he hit Dean’s prostate, heard the cry and watched as the green eyes slammed shut and the head snapped back. He grasped Dean’s chin, tilted it down and caught his eyes, held them as he moved. He needed to see, needed to _understand_ , because if Dean was doing this to prove he loved Sam then Sam could believe it. Sam could hold onto it even after it ended.  
  
What he saw in those eyes sped up his pace, sent his still slick hand down to Dean’s cock and he pulled in time with his thrusts, watched the eyes widen and then narrow. They didn’t speak, no endearments and no love, didn’t need it. Not there, not staring into one another’s eyes and Sam was glad. It was more honest this way, words so often lied. He watched Dean cross the threshold, saw him peak, and then felt the contractions around him and his orgasm hit a few thrusts later.  
  
They stayed like that for a long time, Sam buried inside him and still half-hard, Dean breathing heavy underneath him. He put his forehead against Dean’s, felt the slick of sweat and tasted the harsh breaths, and finally broke the silence. “Thank you. I’m sorry. Thank you.”  
  
It was the best he could manage. The closest he could get to what he really wanted to say. It was more than he’d ever deserved and he knew it, but he was willing to take it. Willing to be selfish if he could just keep this man with him. After a while he felt Dean’s hand on the back of his neck, threading through the sweat-damp hair and holding Sam steady. “Yeah. Ditto Sammy. Now move it, you’re fucking heavy.” The tenderness in Dean’s tone almost unraveled him, but he held on and pulled away before collapsing beside him.  
  
“Your friend, she’s fucking wily huh?” Sam turned his head to see the smile overtaking Dean’s face even as he studied his blistered palm. “She played me like a chump Sammy. I’m kinda proud of her. I’ll still have to get revenge though.”

Sam nodded, closed his eyes, and sleep surprised him and snuck up before he could answer.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean slid out of bed after Sam fell asleep and winced once at the movement before heading to the bathroom. The hand came first, and it didn't take long to rub on the burn cream and wrap it with bandages. He cleaned up, marveled at how big the kid was, and then narrowed his eyes and headed down the stairs with the extra burn cream and bandages. He found her on the computer with a cigarette clenched between her teeth and some soft and sad music playing as she scrolled through a website. He stood behind her, one hand on the back of her chair to throw her off her balance even as he stared at the screen. She was apparently shopping for black mirrors, and when she picked one she jumped to another window and bought peacock feathers, a variety of herbs Dean dimly recognized, and a bottle of oil. He finally gave up and took her burned hand before applying the same first aid to it he'd used on his own. She kept shopping instead of paying attention to what he was doing.  
  
When she finally pushed back from the computer the cigarette was burned to the filter and she pushed it into the ashtray and spun around to study him. “You’re angry.”  
  
“Little bit. Also grateful, but I can ignore that. How long were you planning that little game?” He controlled his tone as best he could. He had a feeling she wasn’t as strong as she could be right now. That something had changed between them and he didn’t know what it was.  
  
“Since this morning. We’re doing the summoning on New Year’s Eve. I need you to be prepared for anything because it could get fucking weird.” She stood, side-stepped him and then stopped. Her shoulders slumped and her head hung low. She didn’t turn around when she spoke again. “I’m sorry Dean. The two of you-somebody had to push. I may have pushed too hard.”  
  
He felt temporary guilty and then remembered the way she’d played him, pushed him to the brink and then watched him fall like he was a piece on a chess board. “That’s not the way you treat friends Ope.” It was his way of tempering the anger of his words. Using the nickname Sam used with her, the one she’d insisted he use too. He knew she’d understand.  
  
“Yeah. Well neither us is very good with friends are we Dean?” She rubbed the back of her neck and then stepped away. “Sam’s gonna need to wake up in an hour. That roast will be done. I’ll be back tonight. Loki decided to fly after all.” She headed for the door and Dean felt a flare of panic he couldn’t explain, instincts screaming against letting her leave like this.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
She turned around finally, her face twisting to gain control but her eyes full of turmoil. “I need cigarettes. Gonna get Loki's dumbass from the airport while I'm out.” She left the room without more, and Dean let her go.  
  
He flipped through her notes for a little while before heading upstairs. She’d decided on Jana, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. He had the sneaking suspicion she’d hidden some of the pages. He wandered the house for a bit, studied the souvenirs and artifacts, and then headed back into the bedroom. The time to wake Sam was rapidly approaching and Dean knew he needed to do it a bit early. They’d have to talk. The sun had already set, and he clicked the lamp off so that they’d be in darkness when Sam woke up. It was the easiest way to do this.  
  
When he shook Sam the younger man woke slowly and then spoke in a slurred tone. “What time?”  
  
“About time for dinner. We gotta talk Sam.” It felt wrong crossing his lips, but it couldn’t be avoided. Sam’s head jerked his way, and in the dark Dean could make out only the outline. He stepped in before Sam could start panicking. “It’s not bad. It’s just serious. I need to be honest with you.”  
  
Sam took in a sharp breath under him and Dean felt the body go tense, watched the head turn away slightly towards the door. He didn’t understand the response exactly, but he got the gist of it. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Sam’s temple. “Just listen before you freak ok? I can’t do this twice.”  
  
He nodded against Dean’s lips, and Dean stayed there and spoke into Sam’s skin. He could smell Sam’s shampoo, the lingering scent of sweat and sex in the room, and he took a deep inhalation of it before he continued. “My brother isn’t dead. I know because Ophelia summoned something and found out. I’m asking her to do it again so I can find him. When I do I’m going to have to leave and save him. After that I won’t be back 'til I know he’s stable and whole and ok. I wasn’t lying earlier, I meant every word Sam. What we just did was my way of…yeah. I think you got that part.” Dean took a shaky breath before rushing on.  
  
“When I find him he’s going to get first priority. He has to. I failed him once and I won’t again. I _will_ be back though. In the meantime I’m staying here 'til New Year’s, and I want us to get to know each other better. Whatever this is, this thing between us, I want to know what not to say and do. I don’t want to hurt you like I did this morning. Ok?”  
  
Sam was silent for a long time, and then he felt big hands grab his face and Sam tilted his own to press their lips together. Dean could feel the wet tracks on Sam’s face, the trembling in his lips, and he let Sam control it for a long time before he pulled back. When Sam finally spoke his voice was husky and thick. “Yeah. Ok.” Dean left it at that. Pulled back and flicked the lamp on to see Sam wince away from the sudden light and rub at his wet eyes.  
  
He had to look away, head for the kitchen, hide the vulnerability he knew would be in his face away from Sam 'til he could control it fully.

 

 

\---

 

 

Ophelia Burton knows a lot of things about a lot of things. She can tell you the exact amount of pressure necessary to get ink just deep enough without drawing much if any blood. She can describe the necessary herbs and crystals to draw poisons out of the body. She can explain in detail the chemical process that allows the feeling of floating joy she has right now. What she can't explain is how Loki, who is slight and kind of soft, is the only man in the bar that interests her at all. Peter, who has had his eye on her for years, is sitting beside her as Loki nods and smiles at him like the guy isn't interrupting their conversation at all.

His hand is on her thigh, and honestly she's fucking sick of it. She's taken it off three times, but the burly bastard isn't getting the hint. Finally he crosses the last line when he puts his arm around her shoulder and leans in to speak loudly, as if the music volume requires that sort of bullshit. "Let's step outside baby. Leave the geek and I'll slip you some real muscle."  
  
Loki's smile only gets brighter, warmer, and that's confusing enough, but before she can take Pete's fingers and snap them Loki is up, around the table, and grabbing the much larger man by his shoulder.

"Alright there Petey boy, I think the lady's done being pawed. Let's just step over here and let her have some air." His voice is gentle, kind, and yet Peter is stumbling behind him like Loki's about to just pick the asshole up off the ground and carry him. Pete doesn't struggle though, and seconds later Loki is taking him out the front door and then coming back and wiping his hands. He takes the spot Pete just emptied and nudges her shoulder.

"Thought that guy would never leave."  
  
There's something going on here. Something she can't really explain, but she's pretty sure she should be able to. People have energies. It's a thing she's learned from her practices, and she knows that to properly work with those energies they have to be recognizable. She can get there in a ritual space, but with pot and whiskey in her system she's already half-way to trance state and she still can't see Loki's. She can feel it though, like fire and lightning crackling around him and caressing her skin. He's energized, sparkling, and it's something that she wants to put her fingers on. Wants to _taste_.

"Yeah. Ok. Hey Loki?"

"Call me Gabe sweetcheeks. You've earned it."

That gives her pause, and she licks whiskey off her lips and considers the offer for a moment. "Like Gabriel?" He nods once and smirks broadly. "Ok. I wanted to say thanks. For coming out for Sammy. It means a lot to him."  
  
Gabriel cocks his head at her and then smiles again in that way that has her reconsidering the distance she keeps putting between them. "That what you wanna talk about? Sammy?"  
  
Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. She really wants to taste that smile, and he sips the fruity concoction she's still not sure how he got the bartender here to make as she thinks about it. This is not the best time to make decisions, but it's been months since she got laid and this isn't the worst option on the table. At least Sam kind of likes the guy. So she makes a decision, because fuck it. _Life is short._  
  
"You know that big barn at the end of the driveway before the house? Looks like it should be fucking haunted?" Gabriel nods once and the smile becomes a smirk again. She kind of likes that too. "You have twenty minutes to get me there before I rethink dropping my panties for you. Think you can handle that _Gabe_?"  
  
He surprises her when he picks her up, but she lets herself be carried out of the bar as several of the patrons laugh and then the car is speeding through the night, and it takes way less time than it's ever taken to get home. How Gabriel doesn't get pulled Ope can't figure out, but she lets herself be carried to the door and points him to the stairs. She's never had sex here before, but she'll be damned if she does it where Sam can hear. He'll never let her live it down. Plus she'd like him to have a little more time alone with Dean. That's the last she thinks about _that_ though, because Gabriel is crashing into her ritual space and looking around.  
  
"Holy shit Opey. You're a witch?" He's looking over the altar as she slides out of his arms and digs around for the yoga mat. Just something to soften the floor a bit.

"Yep. Problem with that?" She can hear the defensiveness in her voice, but fuck that too because if he changes his mind she can finish herself off. That's another thing she knows how to do.

"Nope. Not even a little. Let's see your pantheon here. You got Iaso. Nice and subtle. So for the male side you-" His voice falters and then he looks at her. There's an expression there she wasn't prepared for, and it makes her hands stop on the laces of the corset top. His hand is on the little statue, and that should bother her but it doesn't. "Why?" There's something there again. His voice is almost hard, and she can't understand this shift in him, but she finishes the laces before she answers. Gives him time to consider if this is really what he wants to talk about while she slides the fabric over her head and bares everything above the waist. The lights are dim enough he may not be able to see the scars, but from the way his already narrowed eyes slit to tiny bits of amber she imagines he can. This may end with her fingers after all. At least one hand is still fully usable.

"Why what?" She slips her fingers over her left nipple but he can't seem to be derailed now. That feeling from before, of barely restrained power, it's all coming back as his stride eats the wooden floor and his hands land heavy on her shoulders. Maybe she should be scared, but Ophelia has never been good at being scared.

"Why _that one_? That's not a _god_. You're supposed to pick _gods_. You like healing magic you pick Apollo or Dhatri. Not _that_. Why that?" His voice is cold. Bitter and hateful. Arousal dies hard and fast.

"You're getting a little heavy there Gabriel. Wanna dial it back a step or two?" She's not scared. Not at all. "I picked it because I picked it. It has nothing to do with you."

"I don't-" He stops then and glances back over his shoulder at the little figurine and it's trumpet before he looks back to her. "Just tell me why."

Well that's a loaded question, and Ophelia would much prefer to be on her back right now but it appears they're going to have their first serious conversation in _ever_.

"I was raised Catholic. I thought-I wanted something to be-ah fuck man. _Really_? This is what we're doing here? I picked it because I always loved the guy a little ok? He got a bad fucking job, and little recognition, and this huge fucking responsibility. I could relate to that. I wanted to have something on my altar that touched me personally, and that did. Now are we gonna fuck or are you gonna hit me, because I can't tell from your expression."

For a moment, just one, she thinks he will. Instead he drops to his knees and her panties are off in record time before she feels his tongue lapping hard and fast against her clit. It's shocking, sudden, and her head spins. Honestly she'd fall down, but Gabriel's hands are on the backs of her thighs holding her up and keeping her steady. Something just happened, something _significant_ , but it's hard to puzzle out when his fingers are slipping into her and she's fucking keening while she holds onto his soft hair. Somehow she gets onto her back, and those same fingers work at the flesh of her thighs and part them farther while his tongue does things she didn't even know existed. It's wicked, hard, but there's desperation and Ope knows that feeling all too well to miss it or confuse it for something else.

She works the buckles of the skirt, fumbles with the zipper, and then it's loose and she's pulling on his shoulders because she wants to come with his dick in her, but Gabriel is having none of it. Instead he's eating her like she's seen him eat banana splits on the computer screen and making noises like it's the best meal he's ever had. Which is great. Just great, but she's pretty sure she's ripping his hair out and she can't stop. When her orgasm hits her it's like he touched her with a live wire, and her back arches off the floor as he licks her through it and to the other side. She's laughing breathlessly and overstimulated when he slips in, and he's pretty fucking big so that's an accomplishment all its own. His messy face kisses over her cheeks and along her jaw.

"Say it again." His voice is breathy, hot and sexy all at once, and she remembers all the times he flirted with her and she thought it was cute but childish. She'll never make that assumption again.

"Say what?" The last word comes out high as his fingers reconnect with the little bundle of nerves and she gets right on the edge of orgasm again. "What?"

"About Gabriel. Touching you personally." He laughs, no light-hearted amusement just sex and sin, and then he eats the moans from her mouth.

"Shut the fuck- _oh shit_ -oh Gabriel!" She comes again, and he follows her seconds later. They lay there for a while, sweaty and sticky on the yoga mat, and then he rolls off and out but keeps a hold of her good hand.

"You pray to him?" There's that edge again, and that's weird because she's so limp and weak right now she can't imagine getting up the energy to talk about religion. Still, it sounds important, and the guy did just give her the best sex of her life.

"Yeah. Sometimes. Why?" She fumbles for a second and finds her cigarettes. Lights one and offers him the pack but he shakes his head once and closes those amber eyes.

"What do you ask for?"

"World peace. An end to hunger. The Sox to win the fucking Series." She takes a deep drag and then exhales slowly. "Weird internet recluses to come to my home and fuck me silly."

"Seriously Ophelia. What do you pray for?" Now there's something gentle, and it makes her feel warm and fuzzy in a way she really doesn't want to. _This is just sex_. That's important to remember, because he'll be gone and she's not getting attached. She cannot afford to get attached.

"I pray for Sam. For his safety, and his sanity. I pray that when I'm dead he'll be taken care of. It never gets me anywhere, but that's what prayer is right? Throwing quarters in fucking fountains and hoping something will listen _just this once_."

Gabriel opens one eye and his fingers draw lazily over the thick scar on her hip. A knife wound from her one and only lost bar brawl. "What makes you think you're gonna die?"

She thinks of the medication in a box under her bed, can picture the label and the childproof cap like it's right there in front of her. Half-full and useless just like everything else. "The same reason you do. Mortality is ultimately temporary. This is really fucking heavy Gabe. How about we just take a few minutes, get our breath back, and then get our clothes fully off and do that again?"

He doesn't give her a few minutes.

 

\----

  
  
  
  
Dinner was going to be awkward. Sam knew it, couldn’t avoid it, Ophelia would be weird and Dean would be…  
  
It was strange to think of Dean as emotionally vulnerable. He could still hear the shake to the older man’s voice, could only imagine what it was like for a guy like to Dean to let himself be held down and entered like that. It meant a lot to Sam, shit it meant _everything_ , but he didn’t know what to do about it. Didn’t know how to respond. His graduation was tomorrow and as it stood he had a mess to fix here before he could even consider it. When he came out into the kitchen he was surprised to only find Dean. He was about to go to the stairs and shout for her but Dean shook his head and pulled the roast out of the oven.  
  
“She went to get cigarettes and pick up Loki. Said she’d be back later.” Dean’s face stayed on the roast pan, pulling back the tinfoil and barely dodging the barrage of steam. Sam watched him silently for several minutes and then scrounged up what courage he had left.  
  
“I cut myself. It wasn’t Brady.” Dean’s eyes flew up from the food and met Sam’s from across the room. Disbelief, shock, confusion all evident on his face. “I was detoxing badly. Ope was supposed to be gone, and I was in the bathroom. I kept thinking-well it doesn't matter. I just thought I needed to. I believed if I was gone before she and Jeff got back I couldn't hurt them or taint them. When she came back I’d broken a mirror, and I had cut myself. I was in the water and- I remember it dimly, but I can’t really explain it. I thought-shit I thought I wouldn’t have organs. I was sure that I was such a freak if I opened myself up I’d bleed funny colors and there’d be nothing there but dust. She made this sound like an animal caught in a trap. I'll never forget that part.”  
  
Dean’s hand twitched once and then lifted and rubbed at his mouth. “What’d you find?”  
  
“Just how hard Ophelia can hit if you push her.” He could remember her screaming, remember the panic, and most of all he remembered the tears. “I couldn’t explain it to her at the time. It wasn’t a suicide attempt it was an urge for discovery. She kept me tied down the rest of the time until it all ended.”  
  
Dean glanced at his stomach once, and then looked back up. “Ok. Where’d you learn to cook?”  
  
Sam paused, not the question he’d expected, and then he took the bait. A break from the confessions was an incredible temptation. “Fourth foster home. Dinner was one of my chores so I taught myself out of cookbooks from the school library.” He crossed the room and took over cutting the roast and serving it up with the vegetables. “Turns out I had a knack for it. When I moved in with Ope and Jeff I kind of took over. They're both terrible cooks.”  
  
They took seats at the kitchen table and Dean bit into the meat first, eyes closing and mouth curling into a smile. “It’s damn good Sammy. I don’t get much in the way of home-cooked food.”  
  
Sam watched him eat for a minute before he dug in himself. After a while Dean spoke again, mouth full of roasted potatoes. “My dad and I traveled all the time, and before I could hunt he would leave me for days at a time in these shitty motel rooms. He’d buy a week’s worth of cereal and Chef Boyardee and then leave me with it. I always felt so adult, picking my own meals and using the hotplate and all, but nowadays when I think back…” Dean looked at his plate thoughtfully. “But when he’d come back and we’d travel we’d go to diners and have the best food. At least I thought that, but so far you’ve blown almost all of them out of the water.”  
  
Sam swallowed hard and took a bite of roast, chewed it, gave himself a moment. “Not all of them?” He had to grin when he said it, the tone light and jesting.  
  
“Well Sam, you’re good, but we stopped at this one little place in Tennessee with ribs that literally melted in your mouth. The day you beat them is the day I marry yah.” Dean’s grin is everything, sunshine and light and Sam doesn’t bother reading into it or making it something else. This is good, this light-hearted joking, the easy air between them, and he wants it to stay forever even if he knows they’re both too damaged to keep it up.  
  
They finish dinner, he sets up plates for Ope and Loki and wraps them before boxing the rest of the leftovers separately. When they settle on the couch with two beers and leave the TV off Sam finally broaches a subject he almost passed over earlier. “Ophelia is summoning things? When did that start?” She certainly hadn’t mentioned it.  
  
“She did it on her trip before I left. I promised we'd keep you out of it.” Dean scratched at the back of his neck and looked around the room for a second. “Kinda dropped that ball.”  
  
“It’s dangerous isn’t it?” It would explain keeping it from him. He’s not surprised, a little disappointed really, but not surprised. Dean grimaces slightly and finally meets Sam’s eyes. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to really, and Sam puts one hand on his knee. “I wish my family loved me half as much as you love your brother.”  
  
He leaves it at that, doesn’t need to say more really because it’s true and Dean understands what he means. It’s ok. She knows what she’s doing, and Dean wouldn’t let her go into too much danger. He’s one of the good guys.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam waited up for Ophelia, and when they came in through the door at three in the morning with her hair mussed and Loki's shirt on backwards he raised an eyebrow and then pointed at the fridge. “Plates in there for you two. Also, we have to be at the ceremony in five hours.”  
  
She didn’t look up, brushed hair out of her face, dropped a CVS bag on the table, and then went to the fridge and pulled out a can of coke. She sat across from him and played with the can before speaking. Loki ruffled his hair and then disappeared. “I went too far earlier. I’m sorry.”  
  
“You apologize to Dean?” Sam watched her face, didn’t see a response and wondered just how badly she was twisting inside and what was doing it.  
  
“Yeah. I'm a bitch. We all knew it.” She rubbed at her eyebrow and Sam saw the strange letters on her right and left ring fingers, puffy red outlining black letters. He got up, moved closer, and took her hands.  
  
“You went to the shop. What do these say? Are they runes or Greek?” He studied the symbols that lined both fingers carefully. Traced along the outside of one.  
  
“Etrsucan. The right hand says future and the left says past. You should really get some sleep Sam.” She opened the can, took a long gulp, and then stood and grabbed up her bag. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

"Hey Ope?" She turned and looked at him. "Grats on sleeping with Loki."  
  
She gave him the finger with a broad smile and walked off. He didn’t try to stop her, she’d talk when she was ready, and he didn’t bring up the summoning. He wanted her to tell him first. Instead he went to bed, found Dean lying awake in the dark, and climbed in with him.  
  
“You could have gone to sleep.” Sam nudged Dean once, and was surprised when a strong hand gripped the side of his head and pulled him over so he was pillowed on Dean’s shoulder.  
  
“Shut up.” It was fond enough Sam took no offense, and he fell asleep easily.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Sam stared in horror at the bathroom for roughly five minutes before he headed into the kitchen. He found her lounging at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. She put the toast down long enough to light a cigarette and Sam felt a strong wave of déjà vu.  
  
“I can clean it up.” Her face said she knew what he was thinking, that she was both amused and wary.  
  
“The sink is black. Not a little black. A lot.” He smiled broadly, all forgiven, all well, she could relax and she took the message. “And your hair is black now too. So there’s the culprit. Why is your hair black?”  
  
Dean came in behind him and he felt the other man jerk once and grunt in surprise. She gripped a hunk of her hair and peered at it, still playing along. “Why son of a bitch. It is black. That’s new.” Dean’s look of confusion when they both started laughing loudly was priceless, and Sam couldn’t find the air to explain the joke. Loki came in halfway through and simply smiled as he took Ope's toast and sprinkled sugar on it.  
  
She tapped her watch once and nodded towards the door. “We have an hour. You boys gonna be ready?”  
  
Dean nodded and grabbed her remaining piece of toast, nimbly dodging when she sent a slap his way. He spoke through a mouthful, crumbs flying. “We’re men. We get ready much more quickly than you ladies.”  
  
Sam narrowed his eyes and considered that. “Dean how much hair gel do you use on a regular basis?” He laughed again at Dean’s offended face, and Ope and Loki joined him once more. He didn’t miss the way the green eyes danced, the light that shined in them, or the tiny curl at the edge of pouting lips.  
  
They left on time despite Dean taking in the way they were all dressed up and going to change his clothes. Sam studied the final choice and nodded once in appreciation before gesturing for the door, the garment bag with his robe and hat hanging over his shoulder.  
  
They parted company at the doorway. Ophelia led him upstairs and helped with the honors stole and cords he had earned. She fixed his hat carefully, fidgeted with his tie, and then went up on tiptoes and waited for him to lean just that last set of inches so she could kiss his cheek. “I’m so fucking proud of you Sam.”  
  
He smiled at her fondly, watched her sparkling eyes as she slipped off to head for the bleachers, and then got into his own place. They waited for what seemed forever, people chatting around him until their line was finally called and they marched in formation to their seats. The crowd was huge, and Sam didn’t bother looking for Dean amongst all those people. He took his seat and waited through what seemed like hours of speeches, including one that started ‘I won’t talk long’ and yet went on for twenty-five minutes.  
  
When they called him up with the long list of honors he received Sam took the diploma with one hand, shook with the other, and managed to keep his blush down when Ope and Dean cheered for him. He heard both of them though, and he searched in the direction of Dean’s voice. He saw him standing in the crowd, clapping above his head, and he waved once. Ope was bouncing beside him and then Loki hit an air horn and she and Dean both jumped before glaring.  
  
He didn’t throw his hat, or hug anyone in the seats around him, but he did clap with the rest of his class when they were announced as a whole. They filed out, and he searched through the crowd for his people. A small, familiar blonde grabbed him first. “Sam. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Congratulations!”  
  
He dutifully received a hug from Ruby, and then raised an eye when she handed him a card. He still hadn’t opened the Christmas present from her. “I heard your birthday was right before Christmas. Happy birthday as well. Look I know your girlfriend hates me, but if you ever get a chance let’s chat ok? I have some things I want to tell you.”  
  
He nodded once, spotted Ophelia cutting through the crowd like a blade with Dean and Loki dragging in her wake, and waved goodbye to Ruby to avoid the tension. He caught up with them halfway and received Ope’s hug before lifting her up and swinging her around. He was surprised that when he put her down Dean was holding her camera, a wicked grin on his face. Ophelia took it from him, grabbed some random passerby and handed it to them before shoving Sam in between the three of them. They posed, grinned, and then she took back the camera.  
  
“Ok. Now you two stand together.” They did, Dean still smiling dutifully, and Ophelia frowned as she looked into the view screen. “Is that the best you can do Dean?”  
  
Which was when Dean grabbed his waist, spun him and pulled him into a kiss. The world went away for a few seconds, and then Sam was left unsteady on his feet and Ophelia was grinning as she turned the camera off and hung it from her wrist. Sam looked around, caught a glimpse of Ruby in the crowd staring, and then turned back and shot Dean and Ophelia a half-hearted glare. Loki's smirk was so broad Sam was afraid his face would cramp. They laughed. Sam tried to hold out, he really did, but after a few moments he joined them. It was cold, snow everywhere, but the sun shone down on them, and Sam experienced one of the best moments of his entire life standing on a windy sidewalk in a crowd of strangers.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean was walking behind him with his hands over his eyes, and Sam frowned as he was led into the kitchen. “What exactly are we-“  
  
The hands lifted and he blinked against the light in the kitchen before he saw the giant cake filled with candles. Ophelia stood behind it with a huge grin and the camera in her hands again. “Happy birthday Sammy!!”  
  
He stared at it for a moment, it was homemade, and then swallowed his apprehension and smiled broadly. “Thanks guys. This is great but-“  
  
“Blow out your candles.” Dean’s voice in his ear, and Sam suddenly felt arousal replace fear, “Make a wish.”  
  
He considered that for a moment. Closed his eyes and blew with only one thought in his head. _Let them find Dean’s brother Sam safe_. When he opened his eyes to her clapping he saw all the candles had extinguished. Ope picked them out carefully as Dean grabbed plates and silverware. He carved the cake and then held a slice out to Sam.  
  
“Which one of you made this?”  
  
“Ophelia. She said it was your favorite.” Dean was grinning broadly, but Ope’s eyes had narrowed. Sam cut a piece with his fork and lifted it slowly before taking a bite. When the chocolate flavor practically melted in his mouth he felt his gaze fly upwards and catch hers.  
  
“I practiced. Ass.” The grin sliding across her lips was open and honest, and Sam relaxed to see it. She pulled her black hair back into a high ponytail and then took a seat and accepted a piece of cake from Dean before biting into it.  
  
They ate in silence, Dean’s face ecstatic as he took his second piece and practically gobbled it. Loki almost ate his weight in cake. After a while Sam broke the silence as he watched them. “Are we doing anything special tonight?”  
  
“For your birthday or for Christmas Eve?” Ope’s eyebrows slanted upwards and her lips twitched.  
  
“Either.” He kept his gaze on her, studiously avoiding Dean and Loki. Sam watched as Ophelia looked to the men slyly and then back to Sam.  
  
“Well we were thinking about an orgy, but instead we could watch the entirety of _Monty Python’s Flying Circus_. I hear someone likes it, and that someone else got it for them.”  
  
Sam resisted the urge to cheer, to rush forward and grab her up, and instead shrugged calmly. “Yeah. I bet they have great taste and an incredible body.”  
  
Dean choked on his second piece of cake and when he had it out of his airway he looked up. “Look at Sammy. Cocky and confident. Birthdays agree with you.”  
  
“Well I am twenty-five now. I better live it up before I get old. You know what I mean right Dean?”  
  
Dean’s glower was accompanied by Ope and Loki's laughter.  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Dean looked at her over Sam’s head. The kid had fallen asleep several hours into the British comedy marathon, and that left only himself and Ophelia awake, both sipping beers and letting the DVD run. Loki was on the floor, shoulders resting heavily against her legs and head dropped onto her thigh. Dean didn't miss how she hadn't bothered moving him. He settled his shoulder a little more comfortably under the weight of Sam and then grinned at her.  
  
“I’d say that went well.”  
  
She nodded once and took a long pull. “Merry Christmas Dean. Take Sam to bed. I have prep work to do.”  
  
“Prep work?” He let her take his empty bottle after she slid out from under Loki, so he’d have both hands to wrangle a half-asleep Sam to bed.  
  
“Yeah. A few more translations, some crystal polishing. New Age bullshit. Don’t worry about it.” She grinned carelessly and headed off to the kitchen. He waited for her to come back through.  
  
“Ope, listen, about the ritual-“  
  
She shook her head once and met his eyes, her bright blue ones serious. “No cold feet now buddy. We’re close.” She gestured to Sam again and then slipped through the door to the basement stairs.  
  
He shook Sam gently and when one hazel eye cracked open to peer at him he smiled as softly as he could. “Up you go Sammy. Bed time.”  
  
Sam nodded, mumbled, and staggered his way half-blind towards the bedroom. Dean led him with soft pushes to either shoulder, and once Sam had voided his bladder and brushed his teeth Dean made sure he was fully tucked in before he slipped outside to the Impala.  
  
If he was going to do this he was going to do it right, because Dean Winchester didn’t do things halfway. He pulled the two small gifts, wrapped in newspaper, out of the trunk and then took them inside and put both under the tree. Afterwards he slid out his cell and dialed his father. It rang several times and then went to the voicemail.  
  
“Merry Christmas Sir.” He hadn’t heard from John since they parted ways. He could only assume his father had found the gun he wanted, and that he was tracking down Azazel with the new intel and closing in. Dean was only half-sure his dad would tell him if he actually had the son of a bitch in his sights. Either way, in six days Dean would have bigger fish to fry.  
  
He was careful not to make a sound when he slipped back into Sam’s room and undressed. He joined the younger man in the bed and felt Sam’s still cool body wrap around him. He rubbed a distracted hand up Sam’s side and smiled softly. Six days was a long time.  
  
He woke to a pot being hit with a metal spoon, and he jerked so hard and fast he fell out of the bed and slammed into the floor before he realized what was happening. Ophelia was in the doorway, a cigarette in the corner of her demented smile and a Santa hat perched on top of her newly colored hair. Beside him Sam woke with a sharp gasp and then turned to look at her with annoyance.  
  
“For three years I have been _begging you_ to be a human being on Christmas morning. Why? Why won’t you?” Sam’s voice was slightly whiny, wholly endearing, and Dean wanted to smile at it but he was currently plopped naked on the floor in the cold morning air. She didn’t seem interested in his body though, she was too busy laughing.  
  
“Because it’s Christmas! These are Christmas bells Sammy!” She let the pot hang and avoided looking at him when he reached for his pants and pulled them on.  
  
“I bought you some damn bells. I bought you a lot of damn bells. Where’d they go?”  
  
She shrugged broadly. “Time to make breakfast!” There was no better word for the next part, she skipped away and Dean caught Sam’s still half-asleep eyes.  
  
“Is she fucking crazy?” He thought of all the nights he’d spent in motels with his hand on the gun under his pillow. She was goddamn lucky he didn’t have one this morning.  
  
“Yes.” Sam’s mouth couldn’t seem to decide between hardening and curling upwards. It was an interesting expression. “She’s a lunatic. Which puts us in good company.”  
  
Dean couldn’t necessarily argue that point.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Sam watched Dean eat his third helping of bacon before reaching for another spoonful of hash browns. Ope was humming Christmas music as Loki poured an ocean of syrup over his pancakes.  
  
This was what he'd always wanted and never had. A family on Christmas. Warmth and love. Ope laughing and kicking Loki's shin as he made obscene noises around a mouthful of food. Dean's eyes glittering as he pounded bacon and mumbled about a lack of table manners. It was so simple, and somehow it had just fallen into Sam's lap.  
  
Ophelia popped up from the table and slapped her hands on the wood. “Let’s go open presents boys. I have a feeling this is the year I clean up.”  
  
Sam had managed to find something for her and Loki. It was the one gift he'd wrapped for Dean that had him nervous. He wasn't sure how it would be taken, or if it was the right idea. Wasn't sure about anything suddenly, because here was his greatest wish and it could leave at any time. He stepped lightly into the living room and watched Ope push Loki into a seated position. Dean followed with a handful of bacon.  
  
She pointed to the couch for Sam, the armchair for Dean, and then she doled out presents. Sam looked over the little pile and was surprised by the newspaper covered one. From the way her hand stuttered she was too. She put the gift from Ruby at the far edge, and then she reached behind the tree and brought out an orderly stack of gifts that she dropped in front of a shocked Dean. She winked at him once and then took what was left across the room and sat on the floor at Loki's feet.  
  
“Sam first.” Dean’s voice was gravely as he studied the little pile in front of him, and Ope nodded seriously and pulled out her camera.  
  
He reached for the newspaper one first and Ope clucked her tongue and shook her head. He let go of it and picked up one wrapped in starry paper. He broke the tape and slid open the paper to find a little box with a note inside. There was a date written on the paper, and he stared at it for a second before flipping it over. On the other side was a detailed design, filled with sigils he didn’t recognize surrounding a pentagram. He looked up at Ophelia in surprise. “It’s a ward against evil. The date is your appointment with me. I designed it, but if you want I can change it.” He saw the hesitation there, and choked down his surprise so he could offer her gratitude.  
  
“It’s gorgeous Ope. I’d love to.” She nodded towards Dean and pointed at his little starry box.  
  
“Open yours.”  
  
Dean obeyed, found the same box with the same paper, and looked at Sam for a second before looking to her with a question in his eyes.  
  
“They go here,” she gestured to the left side of her chest, “above your hearts. It’s a place of power.”  
  
Dean nodded once, cleared his throat, and looked back to the artwork. “Thanks sweetheart.”  
  
Sam opened the other two gifts from her. In classic Ophelia fashion the first gift was touching, the second practical, in this case a stick of Ram, and the third a joke. When he slid his hand into the bag and found what must have been fifteen bottles of lube he almost didn’t bother pulling them out. She grinned wickedly. “You should always be prepared.” Loki's eyebrows waggled and he pushed his face into Ope's hair and muffled his laughter.  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow, saw what was in the bag when Sam pulled one out to confirm his suspicions, and laughed until he was red in the face. Sam opened Ruby’s gift next and raised his eyebrow at the little winged figurine. He never would have pictured her as the religious type. Despite herself Ophelia moved forwards to peer at it. “Which angel is that Sam?” He saw the way Loki looked it over, face tightening briefly, and then it was gone and the hacker was leaning back again with one hand casually resting on Ope's shoulder.  
  
He shrugged, put the figurine to the side, and picked up the newspaper one. “When did you start wrapping in newspaper Ope?” She shook her head and his eyes flew to Dean.  
  
The hunter was looking everywhere but at Sam, and he paused before he slid his fingers through the clumsy tape job and ripped it open. As he fumbled with the box Dean’s voice rumbled across the room, and he glanced up to see the green eyes downcast and one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “’S nothing special.”  
  
Sam stared at the little horned amulet for a long time. He looked up at Dean with one eyebrow raised and watched the mossy green gaze flicker away from him. “Bobby said it's a protection amulet. That it's strong mojo. I thought…well I thought maybe you'd like to wear it. Stupid I know.”  
  
“Thanks.” He’s surprised at how choked his voice sounds, and Dean’s eyes fly back to him even as he’s clearing his throat. Dean doesn’t know, _can’t_ know, that he’s the first person outside of the Burton family to put any thought into getting him a present. Hell other than Ruby he’s the first one outside of that small circle to get him anything. He manages to get out one more sentence before his throat fills up again with unshed tears. “I'll wear it always.” It’s a stupid thing to say, and Sam knows it but Dean’s smile is broad and overwhelming. He reaches up and slips the leather thong over his head, the little brass figurine bouncing against his collarbone.  
  
Sam looked over to catch the sheen in Ope’s eyes and the grin on Loki's face, and then she’s gesturing wildly at Dean. “Open yours, open them!”  
  
She’s followed her pattern with Dean. Sam knows it even before Dean opens the second gift. His practical present is a pair of boots. Dean looks at them for a long moment before he speaks. “Two questions, are you a psychic, and how did you know my shoe size?”  
  
“Nope. I’ve seen you staring at your shoes and frowning asshole, and you leave them in the living room a lot. It wasn’t hard to peek at the size. Next present!”  
  
He opens the joke gift, and Sam watches as his eyes widen and his lips press into a tight line. When he looks up the crinkles at the corner of his eyes are evident despite how stern he’s trying to look. “What is this supposed to be?” He lifts the book out of the paper and glares at it.  
  
“It’s a survival guide for the Zombie Apocalypse. You know, helpful tips and such for when the dead rise.” The look on her face is priceless, and Sam can’t help but notice she’s taken several shots of Dean’s expression.  
  
He nods once to himself, then looks up and catches her eyes. “Zombies are real.” He laughs softly when her smile slips off her face, and Loki bursts into guffaws.  
  
Sam feels a little tightening in his chest when Dean picks up the last gift. He’s honestly worried that the other man won’t like it. Sam spent hours consulting with Ope before he went looking for it, and now he’s already questioning the wisdom of buying Dean such a gift. He almost tries to stop him from opening it, but he holds back and clenches his hands in between his knees.  
  
Dean stares at it for a long time, lips moving silently as he reads the words engraved along the blade. When he looks up his eyes are strange, shadowed and soft all at the same time, and his voice comes out flat and toneless. “Where did you find this?”  
  
Sam isn’t sure if his hands are shaking or not, so he tries to make his voice sound firm in case they are. “I had it made. The blade is silver and I had a priest bless it. Ope did the translation.” He has to look away, can’t meet Dean’s strange expression anymore, and then fingers have his chin and hot lips are over his. The kiss lasts a long time, and when Dean whispers his thank you in Sam’s mouth Sam shudders for good reasons.  
  
When Dean crosses back to the couch he pulls the knife all the way out and Sam sees the flash of the sentence along the length of the wickedly sharp blade. _Caveo hoc fortis viri_. Ophelia had pointed to the last word seriously as she explained the translation to Sam. _Not just man, but hero_ , she’d insisted. Apparently Dean knows the difference.  
  
There’s silence for a long time before Dean looks up from the blade and nods to Ophelia. “Get on it sweetheart.”  
  
She opens toe socks from Sam first and makes it a point to put the blue pair with the stars on first and grin broadly at them. She exclaims loudly over the old copy of _Bulfinch’s Greek Mythology_ , and then she’s opening Dean’s newspaper wrapped gift. Her fingers stutter once on the lid of the box and then when she looks up her eyes catch his with a question. Sam watches the silent interaction, and then leans forward to look into the box.  
  
There’s a ring inside, silver setting with a glass eye in the center. Blue, the same shade as hers, and her fingers lift it from the box so that the light catches the glass and shines through it. When she looks up again her eyes are big and wet. “Thanks Dean. I love it.” She looks to Sam and grins, a real one that he wants so badly to keep on her face. “It’s a ward against the evil eye.”  
  
Sam nods once, and then watches as she gets up carefully, sliding it on to the middle finger of her right hand before she crosses over and hugs Dean once, tightly and briefly. When she hugs Sam it lasts a little longer, and then she’s rubbing her eyes and pointing at Loki.  
  
“Open them man so we can start drinking.”

Loki raises one eyebrow and then rips open his first present. The one from Sam. He pauses for a second and then looks up in surprise. "I don't understand."

Sam shrugs once and then tries to look casual. "Ope and I figured you might need one. Since your visits are so unscheduled." Loki turns the key over in his fingers several times before tucking it into a pocket. He doesn't say anything, just opens the second box and then looks up to Ophelia. He makes a noise, high and excited, and Sam watches Dean lean over to see better. There are ten bags of Ghiradelli's chocolate nestled in tissue paper.

"This is-damn I love you two. Easy access and chocolate." He starts stuffing his face immediately, and Sam doesn't even try to suppress his laughter.  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
Dean joins them in drinking as they call her uncle and shout cheer at him. They begin in the basement with Sam playing funny Youtube videos and then take the bottle back upstairs and drink in front of the fireplace. Dean can’t help but notice how Sam sits a good distance away from it, and he makes a mental note to ask later. Around three in the morning Loki helps Ophelia to bed as she gestures wildly and proclaims her sobriety. Dean reaches for Sam. The young man is drunk, and apparently horny as his big hands grasp Dean everywhere on the way to the bedroom. He’s talking nonstop the whole way.  
  
“Great. Great day. You’re great. She’s great. He's great. ‘S all great.” Dean drops Sam on the bed gently and then kicks off his new boots. She has good taste in shoes, and he’s almost ashamed at how quickly he knows he’ll wear them out. Sam’s grabbing at his hips and he lets himself be maneuvered to the bed. “Fuck me. Please Dean. Want to feel you.”  
  
Dean lets Sam fumble with his shirt before helping him undress, and then he steps back long enough to take his own clothes off. Sam’s hands are clumsy as he grasps at Dean and pulls him so close Dean is almost smothered under Sam’s bulk. “Dean. _Dean_. Make me warm.”  
  
He wants to say no, because Sam is beyond drunk, but a few minutes of earnest drunken manhandling and Dean’s own fuzzy logic gives in to lust. It goes slower than it has before, more gentle and sweet, and Dean takes his time opening Sam up while tasting him. Sam isn’t quiet, and he begs so much Dean thinks he’ll finish before they’ve really started. When he comes into Sam the world gets a little brighter, and isn’t that thought fucking estrogen laden, and then he’s moving slowly as Sam repeats his name on a loop of moans and sighs.  
  
Dean barely has the energy to clean them both up when it’s done, and he throws the soiled shirt at the laundry basket before sleep claims him.

 

 

\----

 

 

She doesn't want to wake them up. It's too important they spend more time together. Still, this has to be done. It's the last time. _The last time._ There's a heavy connotation there that she doesn't really want to consider. She slips out of the bed and makes her way across the hall. Dean wakes when the door opens, but Sam doesn't. She can see the gleam of his eyes in the light from behind her. He gets up without a word and follows her out of the house and across the moonlit snow to the workshop.

There's a warm body waiting back in the house for her that won't be there after tomorrow morning. If she had her preference Ope would be there, curled around Gabe's soft and insistent heat and soaking in the luxurious feeling of being well-fucked and relaxed. But this needs to be done, because she has no way to promise that there will be much of an after. The wording of the spell is too loose for her to be sure, and the price of this kind of knowledge could be…  
  
 _It doesn't matter_. It doesn't matter because this is what she's decided to do. Instead she directs Dean to lie down and then lights the candle and anoints her fingers. She remembers all too well when Bobby called her. To do this the right way, the way anyone else would have chosen, would have taken months. Dean out of the action for so long it would probably have driven him crazy. With her though, Bobby had mentioned hesitantly, the damn thing could be wiped out quickly. She's been lying to all of them, dragging this out, and now it has to be finished. Her fingers draw the well-practiced lines around the faded black circle and she could laugh about it, but Dean would ask a lot of fucking questions. Or maybe not. He looks wiped.  
  
"Are you sure you should be doing this before tomorrow?" _Not fucking wiped enough._

She schools her features into flippant disdain. "Shut the fuck up. You're as eager to go back to bed as I am." Wink, dirty grin, and Dean is buying it. Thank the Goddess. She's been careful the last few times to increase the amount of oil, the strength of the incense, and everything has gone so well. Dean can't pick up on the charred scent, he relaxes back into the sensations, and when the pain crosses his face briefly towards the end she makes sure that she's releasing extra energy. Soothing and soft. Right hand working the last of the curse out of him.

Afterwards she digs with her left hand to find the joint and lights with it too. Dean has yet to notice. She'll need it to work again in a little less than twelve hours. Until then she can get by. They don't have the post removal conversation, and she just grins at him when he slips into Sam's room. Returning to Gabriel now is kind of pointless. There will be no shirt removal tonight, but for some reason her feet lead her into the guest room where Gabe immediately opens his arms and pulls her into the bed. When his hand slides along her hip and up the skin of her belly she shakes her head and pushes on his shoulder.  
  
"Just sleep. Wanna sleep ass." She half expects him to push her away. She'd deserve it, and they're not the cuddle type of relationship. In typical unpredictable Gabe fashion though he pulls her tighter into him and nuzzles against the back of her neck.  
  
"Hard time with Dean-o?" There's something in his voice she can't quite pick out. Not jealousy, but something hard and wild. It's part of what makes him so dynamic and makes her want so badly to dig into him. This has gotten too fucking deep.  
  
"Just tired. Want to _sleep_." Apparently her luck earlier with Dean was the last she had left.  
  
"Opey, you're pretty closed off for a little spoon." His lips brush the back of her neck and for a moment there's that burning heat she gets from him. The one that makes her knees weak and her pants drop.  
  
"Spoons don't fucking talk Gabe." For half a second she's sure that'll be enough to lose her bed privileges. Alan used to bitch constantly about her emotional unavailability. Right up until he started fucking Hanna since she was never around anymore.  
  
Fingers thread into hers, and she's pulled tighter into the hacker's body. Until she feels enveloped and protected. Which is weird for her, but nice. _Very nice._  
  
"Don't do anything stupid Ope. I'm serious."  
  
It's not a promise she can make


	15. Chapter 15

It’s the day before New Year’s Eve, and Sam’s getting nervous. He doesn’t know the exact danger of the ritual Ope is preparing for, but he does know it signals Dean leaving. The last few days have been so perfect Sam hates to think of giving them up. His fingers begin to twitch, and he avoids meeting Dean’s gaze sometimes when the tension gets too heavy. Now he’s lying in bed beside Dean, awake and alert, watching time pass. Eventually he slips out of the bed and pulls clothes on before heading out into the living room. Ope is there just as he thought she would be, her fingers moving silently along the couch’s arm as she stares into the darkness outside the windows. Loki, _Gabriel_ he corrects himself, left the morning before.

  
Because of all the windows the living room is often cold, harder to keep warm than the rest of the house, and Sam knows she’s not dressed warmly enough. He drapes a throw over her shoulders and watches her head tilt up to take him in. There’s enough light from the fireplace for him to see bits of her face, and what’s not in shadow stares heavily at him with a weight he hasn't seen in a long time.  
  
He sits beside her and puts one arm around her shoulders. “You missing your man?”  
  
Her grunt is amused and offended. "What man? Are you talking about that big kid? Fuck no."  
  
He ponders that for a minute and then takes a deep breath. “Do you really think Dean will come back with his brother?” There’s so many other questions he wants to ask. Will the other Sam approve of me when he knows what I am? If he asks her though he’s in for a lecture about his worth and he doesn’t want that tonight.  
  
Her fingers drag along his arm briefly and then she hugs him tight. “Of course he will. Go back to bed Sam. Go back to Dean. Time is running out.”  
  
He nods, leaves her there in the half-dark, and wonders later if he would have stayed if he knew what was coming.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean wakes to Sam’s soft snoring, and he lays there for a long time listening to it before he gets up. They have a drive today, and then when they reach the cabin Ophelia will perform the ritual and if it works… _when_ it works Dean’s whole life will change. He rubs Sam’s arm gently and waits for the younger man to wake up naturally. It happens slow, the way it often does when Sam has stayed up too late, pushed himself too much, and then hazel eyes are studying him through thick lashes.  
  
“Morning.” Dean secretly loves this moment, when Sam is half-awake and so innocent and small that Dean could pull him into his arms and shield him from the world if he wanted. It makes him feel powerful, makes him feel like the word Sam so unknowingly placed on that silver blade. Dean knows Latin, and he knows Ope does too. Knows that Sam chose the word because it means hero instead of man, but that Sam doesn’t know it can also mean _husband_. Fuck if Dean doesn’t feel that way sometimes when he’s unguarded and soft like this, as if he’s tied inexorably to Sam.  
  
“Morning.” He leaves it at that, and they lie quietly beside each other until the sun makes it known that too much time has passed, and Dean’s stomach is cramping with hunger. Ophelia is already showered and waiting for them, bags at the door and fingers tapping at the table as she eats cereal.  
  
They eat in silence, ride up to the cabin with music blaring, and Dean glancing in the rearview to see Sam sitting in the back and staring out of the window. They fought a good deal about whether or not Sam should come, and in the end Dean gave in. Ophelia didn’t like it either, but she wasn’t able to tell Sam no. The fight about taking the Impala was worse, and Dean gave in on that one because her Jeep is better suited for the outdoors and the deep snow.  
  
The cabin is gorgeous, small but homey and set on the edge of a lake surrounded by woods. Dean watches Sam taking it all in, his breath puffing in the air, and for a moment Dean is overwhelmed by how beautiful he is. It’s not a great word for a man, not one Dean would ever use aloud, but the way Sam’s cheekbones catch the light and his eyes sparkle, the plump lips and the soft hair, all of it combines to a breathtaking sight.  
  
He helps Ophelia carry gear into the cabin and follows her directions in pushing the furniture around and clearing out the main floor. When the space is open she directs Sam in taking the non-essentials up to the loft bedroom as she pulls out chalk and begins making a circle.  
  
It’s huge, lined with Greek letters and symbols even Dean doesn’t recognize. She does all of it with precise and small motions, and then lays a ring of peacock feathers around it with care, one overlapping the next to form an unbroken circle. She kneels and sets up a small altar in the center of the circle, leaving a space at the center of it and then placing an oil burner, a little bowl, and an incense burner. The last step is a universe of candles that she places around the circle first and then throughout the cabin.  
  
When it’s all set up she peers at the windows and then gets the cooler out and pulls out the sandwiches and chips Sam packed for them. They eat in silence, the sun slowly setting outside, and then she unwraps a small bag and starts filling a joint paper with a mixture of what Dean recognizes are herbs and pot. Dean lights the candles as she works and then comes back to stand with Sam. He raises an eyebrow at her as she rolls it smoothly and licks it.  
  
She lights the joint, takes a deep breath and holds for a bit, and then lets it go. The smell of it is strong, earthy and rich, and Dean feels a contact high almost instantly. Beside him Sam is staring at her in concern. She takes another drag and then meets Dean’s eyes, and he sees that her pupils are so dilated her eyes look black. It sends a shiver down his spine that Sam echoes. “I’m going to perform the ritual. You have to remain silent, don’t break the circle, don’t distract me.”  
  
She slides her shoes off first, before undressing entirely, slipping on a robe, and picking up the last package she had laid out. She pours a little oil in the burner, lights the candle in it, and then unwraps the package. Incense is placed in the burner and lit, herbs are poured into the bowl first, then she extracts the black mirror she bought and places it in the center of the table. Her hands are steady as she takes a wickedly sharp knife and cuts a hunk of her hair before dropping it in the bowl, she cuts both of her tattooed fingers and bleeds them each in on top of the hair. After it’s all done she lays the knife down, stares into the mirror, and begins to chant in Greek.  
  
He feels Sam’s hand take his, and he grips it tight before letting go. Her voice starts low, soft, and then picks up power and volume. The intonation resonates around the room, and Dean watches as all the candles flicker once, twice, and then go out leaving only the ones around the circle lit. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rise up, his skin is covered in gooseflesh, and the room gets colder as the sense of power sweeps through it. He doesn’t realize there’s a problem until she stops speaking.  
  
Her fingers are resting on the sides of the mirror, steady and still, and then they begin to shake. Dean watches in slow-motion horror as the mirror cracks under her hands, as her hands fly up to her eyes and cover them, and then she’s screaming in a terrified voice that is both her own and not. One by one the peacock feathers light on fire and Dean’s holding Sam back as the younger man begins to struggle, one arm gripping him tight while his hand covers Sam’s mouth because breaking any of her rules can only make this worse.  
  
Her screaming is wordless for the longest time, flecks of blood covering her lips towards the end, and then she falls silent and hits the floor with a thud. Dean lets Sam go, hears him slither to the floor, and he breaks the circle and pulls her out of it. He checks her pulse, and while he’s doing that her eyes fly open and he sees that they are both staring sightlessly, two moons literally shining out of her face at him. He has to blink, adjust to the brightness, and then she’s speaking in a voice that is barely more than a whisper of wind.  
  
“The line is cut and lost. Threads unraveling long before, and now the players will come back to the stage.“  
  
She goes quiet after that, eyes closing, breath evening out, and Dean releases her into Sam’s hold and sits perfectly still, grasping his knees and waiting for what comes next. She might wake up, and be alright, and then he’ll know the truth and spend what time isn’t left apologizing to his brother apologizing to her and Sam. That’s the _good_ option. The bad one, the one he expects, is that she will never wake up. The knowledge she’s gained will die with her, and Dean will lose the chance he had to find his brother, one of his only friends, and the man he’s fallen in love with all over one stupid choice.  
  
All there is to do is wait.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
They clean up the cabin in silence, and Dean drives them back to their home, glancing in the rearview mirror at Sam holding her. The younger man’s face is white, silent, pinched with grief.  He eats when Dean feeds him, but he never looks at Dean. She’s asleep for three days. Towards the beginning of the third day Sam has fallen asleep, and Dean sits beside her and stares out the window. The tap on his wrist is hesitant almost feels accidental, and he turns to see she’s staring sightlessly out of blue eyes. She whispers. “Hello?”  
  
He leans down and takes her hand, puts it to his face for some stupid reason he can’t figure out, and she feels for a second before smiling weakly. “Dean.” It’s still a whisper, soft and hesitant. “You alright?”  
  
He can only nod, but her hand feels the movement and her smile stays in place. “Sam?” He nods again. “Where is he?”  
  
“Asleep.” His own voice is a hoarse whisper. He hasn’t spoken since she fell unconscious. There’s been nothing to say.  
  
“Dean, I got your answer but-“Her voice fails her, and he watches her throat work hard. She shakes her head once and frustration crosses her face.  
  
“Stop sweetheart. Take your time.” He needs to find his brother but he needs her to be ok too. It’s a delicate balance, one Dean can barely handle. It costs him almost everything to tell her what he already has and she must hear it or feel it because she frowns and works her mouth anyway.  
  
“I found your answer but it’s bad Dean. It’s got a price. Would you settle for knowing he’s safe?”  
  
Dean considers that for less than a second. He’s been guilty for so long, left his brother alone in a hostile world, and as the woman in the bed beneath him can attest no price is too steep to pay for the cause of his brother. “No. Where is he?”  
  
She takes a deep breath and then pulls him down, her lips against his ear. “It’s Sam. _My_ Sam. _Your_ Sam. _Same_ Sam.”  
  
There’s a moment, a delirious and horrible moment, where Dean can’t understand her. Then it hits him like a tidal wave and his eyes cut over to the young man sleeping on the floor. He’d put a blanket over him after Sam went down, and all that he can see is the outline of his body and the top of his soft hair. The hair he’s gripped more than once as plump lips circled his cock, the body he’s been inside, and all of it is _his brother_. His baby brother. It’s a joke, a black cosmic joke, that Dean didn’t see it before. He thought it was Sam’s soul calling to his but it was blood. _Winchester blood calling to Winchester blood._  
  
The one person he could fall in love with, be vulnerable with, it’s his goddamn brother. He’s the shitty family that abandoned baby Sam on a flight of hospital steps, he’s the one that let Sam fall victim to Brady, and now he’s the one who has molested his little brother countless times. He’s breathless with it, violated, sickened, and left at a loss. Her hand is still on his head, and she pulls him tight against her before he can pull away.  
  
She’s too weak to hold him, if he wants to escape he can, but he stays because she’s paid a price he can’t even comprehend to tell him this. Her voice is rough and thick when she gets it out again. “Stop it. Don’t do that. I’ve seen it Dean. I’ve seen all the outcomes of telling you this. Just think. You fuck it up and he dies.”  
  
Dean nods once, lets her release him before he pulls away, and then slinks out of the room silently and leaves her and him there. His brother on the floor and his friend in the darkness she may never escape. Leaves them there and starts up the Impala. Drives until he can’t breathe anymore and then pulls over and dry heaves out the window while his mind races.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
When Sam wakes up the first thing he sees is that Dean isn’t in the room. The next thing, is that Ophelia is upright, eyes open and pointed towards the window. He’s up so fast he staggers with the head rush and then makes it to the bedside so he can take her hand. Her head flies his way, nostrils flared and then her face relaxes and opens wide. Her eyes aren’t focused on him, but they’re pointed in his direction. Sam realizes all too quickly what that means, and he can’t stop the tears that come as he grips both her hands and pulls her into him, holding her like a child to his chest.  
  
“Ope. Oh shit Ope I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry Ope. Your _eyes_ …” He can’t stop talking, can’t stop holding her, and her movement against him is worth every agonizing moment of worry. Still there’s this, she’s blind and Sam has no idea if it’s temporary or permanent. If it’s permanent then…but Sam can’t really consider that. It has to be temporary. Has to be because the world can’t be this unfair.  
  
 _No good deed goes unpunished_. He squeezes her harder and listens to the huff of breath before she whispers to him. Her throat can’t be fully healed, he saw the blood on her mouth after the screaming, and he has to strain to hear her over his ragged breathing and thundering heart.  
  
“Sam. Sammy. It’s ok now. I’m ok.” Her hands are disentangling from his shirt and wandering upwards, finding his face before she grips it and touches his mouth to feel if he’s smiling, his cheeks to feel his tears.  
  
He turns hopelessly and shouts. “Dean! Dean she woke up!” He waits for footsteps, a shout back, anything, and hears nothing. Which is odd. _Really odd._  
  
Ope’s head is shaking softly, her hands pulling his face back towards her. “He knows. He stepped out to get something. He’ll be back.” But her voice sounds unsure, worried, and Sam takes a minute to absorb that.  
  
“Did you find out where his brother is?” He can’t see her face but he feels her shudder. Would Dean leave her here blind and alone without waking Sam? Leave without saying goodbye? There’s a surge of anger, and Sam picks her up and carries her easily to the kitchen before sliding her into a chair and pulling out his phone. He puts it to the side for a second and finds her cigarettes, slides one into her hand and the lighter in the other, pulls the ashtray close and moves her fingers so she knows where to find it. “I’m going to call him, and I’m going to get you water and soup ok? You’ve been asleep for three days and you need to eat and drink.”  
  
She nods, eyes roaming aimlessly over his general area, and then turning towards the sunlight of the windows to her right. He pulls back, watches her carefully light the cigarette, and then picks the phone back up and dials Dean’s number.  
  
It rings several times, goes to voicemail, and Sam hangs up and tries again as he pours the water for her. It’s his fifth try that receives results. Dean answers by picking up, but he doesn’t speak.  
  
His eyes are on her as she takes the glass from him and carefully moves it to her face, tilts it to her mouth and drinks in slow, tiny sips.  
  
“Dean. What the fuck man? You left her alone and blind and didn’t wake me? I know you want to find your brother but that’s just-“  
  
 _“Sam.”_ Dean’s voice is wrecked, hollow, and there’s a moment when Sam’s heart skips a beat. Something terrible has happened. Something that’s left Dean like this, sent him running away, and Sam freezes in place. He looks to Ophelia, and sees that she’s crying. Was she doing that before?  
  
“Dean. What’s wrong? Talk to me dude. What’s happening?”  
  
 _“Sammy.”_ Broken still, lost and lonely, as if everything’s been taken from him. _“Can I see you?”_  
  
“Yeah Dean. Just-just come home man and we’ll talk. Ok?”  
  
Dean makes a noise, strangled and thick, and then he hangs up. Sam heats the soup up with shaking hands and puts it in front of her. Slides the spoon into her hand and watches as she struggles to eat it before giving up and feeding her. They’d bandaged her fingers and Sam focuses on the white of the bandages against her tan skin as he moves the spoon.  
  
It’s got to be fifteen minutes, maybe twenty at most, before he hears Dean pull up. Sam’s torn, doesn’t know if he should go get Dean or stay here and watch her. The bowl is empty, and her hands reach out seeking him before they touch his chest. “Go Sam. I’ll be ok here.”  
  
He’s up in a heartbeat, feet carrying him across the threshold and out into the cold without thinking. He meets Dean halfway up the hill to the porch, and at the sight of him Sam freezes in place, perfectly still, and watches. Dean moves like an old man, shambling up the hill slowly his eyes fixed on a point somewhere inside of Sam. When he finally reaches Sam he stumbles, falls to his knees, and covers his face. Sam feels the breath leave him, and then he tries to lift Dean but the older man jerks violently away from him.  
  
“Sam.” That same voice and Sam can’t stand it, doesn’t want to hear it. Whatever has made Dean like this, Sam doesn’t want to know. Wants to stay in the dark, because ignorance is bliss and fuck if Dean doesn’t look like he’s been driven mad.  
  
He shakes his head once, but Dean doesn’t see, keeps going in that same tone. “Sammy. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Fuck Sam, I can’t-I didn’t- _I’m so sorry._ ”  
  
Sam hits his knees in front of Dean, fumbles for the familiar face and tilts it until the beloved green eyes are looking at him. “It’s ok Dean. Stop. Please. Whatever it is we’ll get through it but you have to stop this.”  
  
Dean’s gripping at his hands, pushing and pulling them at the same time, and Sam holds on tightly until he stops struggling. Dean can’t seem to speak, mouth working but no sounds coming so Sam takes over for him. “It’s about your brother? Is it bad? Is he in a lot of trouble? I can help you get him. We’ll go get him Dean. We’ll call Bobby, your dad, whatever and we’ll go save him, but you have to calm down ok? I can’t handle Ope blind and you like this so you _have_ to calm down.”  
  
Dean nods once, eyes searching his face like he hasn’t seen him in years. “Sam.” Heartbroken and Sam’s pulling him into his arms and holding him. Dean lets him for several seconds before flailing backwards and holding his arms out to ward Sam off. “Sam you’re-you’re my-“ He can’t finish the sentence and Sam pulls him up, out of the snow and towards the house. Dean’s left without his jacket, in his sweats and t-shirt, and Sam can feel how cold the normally hot skin is. It scares him, more than anything else has so far, and he pulls Dean along into the house and pushes him into a chair. He goes to his bedroom and grabs the comforter before coming back and covering Dean. Ope is sitting at the table, hands over her face and head shaking.  
  
Sam takes position in front of Dean, kneeling and rubbing at his arms through the comforter, while the green eyes stayed locked on him. “Ok man. I got you. Just tell me what the problem is, and we’ll fix it together.”  
  
He watches Dean’s throat work, watches him swallow and struggle, and then that rough voice comes out so thick and raspy that it takes a full minute for Sam to understand the words he’s speaking. “You’re my brother Sam. I’m sorry. You’re my baby brother.”  
  
Sam turns, finds Ophelia’s desolate look, and then turns back to look at Dean’s desperation. His hands drop, limp and nerveless beside him. The kitchen is too silent, oppressive, and Sam wants to get up and leave but there’s no strength in his legs to lift him. Instead he kneels there in front of Dean like a person praying, and isn’t that perfect because Sam is suddenly sure that prayer may be his only option.  
  
What happens next surprises even Sam, scares Ophelia so badly she pushes back in her chair and hits the floor clumsily, makes Dean jump. He’s roaring, shaking Dean like a rag doll and screaming at him. “ _That’s not fucking funny._ ”  
  
He can’t stop though, knows it’s bad but can’t stop, and his hands keep shaking but Dean isn’t fighting him. Sam fights for control, gets it, and pulls his hands back. Dean’s head is hanging low, now that he’s found his words they pour out of him like poison and Sam is frozen in place listening with his fingers up and outspread like he can slap the words off before they have time to settle in his brain. “I’m sorry Sam. I thought you were dead and I would have found you if I knew. Would have saved you. It was all my fault, all that shit, because I couldn’t protect you, and then I-oh shit Sam I touched you and I’m sorry. You’ve gotta believe if I knew I would never have-“  
  
Sam finds the strength in his legs, stands rapidly, and shakes his head. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up.” The anger is still there, the disbelief, and he’s grabbing his phone before heading for the door. “Stay here. I’ll be back.” Then Sam is running, running into the cold morning and he can’t stop.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean finds his legs after several minutes, and pulls Ophelia off the floor. Sits her back in the chair and feels how cold her skin is. He slips the comforter off and puts it around her. It smells like Sam, and Dean can’t bear it at the moment. She grips it tightly before tilting her face up in his direction. “Dean-”  
  
He shakes his head, realizes she can’t see or feel it, and chokes out, “Not right now sweetheart. Silence please.”  
  
She nods, reaches to the table and fumbles around it 'til she finds her cigarettes and her lighter. They stay that way, silent, for a long time and then Dean breaks it. “Was that one of the wrong ways?”  
  
Her fingers trembled and she missed the ashtray when she tapped the cigarette. “That depends on what happens next.” Her voice is a little better, the half empty glass of water is probably a big help. He has to focus, has to take care of what he can right now because he’s done a big thing very fucking badly, and if after all this he’s the reason Sam dies then he won’t be able to take it.  
  
“How did this fucking happen?”  
  
She takes a long drag, coughs harshly, and then reaches out for the water glass. Dean moves fast, taking it and tilting it to her lips. She shoots a grateful look in his general direction and then rubs at her mouth. “Your father found out what happened to Sam the night of the fire, and he thought the safest option was to hide Sam from everyone. He had someone named Caleb take Sam to the hospital, but he didn’t know about the name note or anything else. Didn’t know where Sam went. He set the fire so you’d let it go.”  
  
Dean has to absorb all of that. Take it in and internalize it even as it rips him apart. All these fucking years John Winchester has watched his angst over the loss of Sam and simply let him feel it. Let him carry the weight of killing Sam even as his youngest son, _Dean’s brother_ , was suffering in the hands of strangers. The cold and clear anger he feels then is so sharp that if his father were here he would probably shoot the son of a bitch dead. He forces himself to sound calm.  
  
“What happened to Sam the night of the fire?”  
  
“Azazel marked him. Some of what I saw was clear, some of it was in symbols, and that part was the haziest. I’m not sure even Jana understood it fully. Sam is-he wasn’t wrong. Brady was a fucking demon. They’ve been tracking Sam. They lost him when I took him out of Texas.” Her head is shaking hopelessly. “But they’re close. They’re still looking. Sam has to be protected from them.”  
  
That’s what drags Dean out of his self-pity. Sam needs _protection_ , Sam needs to be kept safe, and Dean is the one who has to do it. “Where do we start?”  
  
Her fingers tap the table rapidly, and he watches as her eyes roam over the kitchen sightlessly. “I need my phone. There’s a private detective in Texas looking for Sam’s family and he has to stop before he finds them. It should be in my purse.”  
  
Dean moves quickly, purpose giving him his mobility and speed back, and watches her tell him which number on her contacts list to dial before he hands her the phone. She speaks calmly, forcing volume, and Dean listens to her half of the conversation 'til she finally hangs up and drops the phone carelessly on the table.  
  
Dean wants to ask what next, to grab her and make her spill everything she knows, but he holds back and waits for her to speak again. When she finally seems ready to do it he watches her face carefully to see any clues it might give since her voice is back under control. “Dean. You’re not going to like this but we have to discuss the-“  
  
Which is when Sam comes slamming through the door with a look on his face like he’s hit the lottery and had his ticket stolen. Dean has time to consider the metaphor apt and then Sam has her shoulders and he’s bent over double to lean into her face and stare into her empty eyes.  
  
“Did you know? Did you know you’d lose your _goddamn sight_?” He shakes her once, and Dean’s tempted to grab him because until he speaks Dean knows she has no way of knowing it’s Sam barging in, and now she’s left in the dark as someone shakes her. It can’t be a good experience but the weight of Sam’s question hits him so hard he stays still.  
  
She swallows once and then nods slowly. “Yes. I knew.”  
  
“Is it temporary Ophelia? Or did you just blind yourself for us?” Sam’s voice is vicious, almost hateful, and Dean can’t comprehend it coming out of Sam’s mouth in her direction. Knowing now that Sam’s a Winchester helps, because Dean and his father are the masters of misdirected anger.  
  
“I don’t know Sam. The research couldn’t find the answer and she didn’t say. That was the trade though, my sight for hers.” She swallows again and then reaches up to touch his face, missing it twice before finding his neck and following it up. Sam’s anger fades, his scowl softens and he closes his eyes when she finally reaches his jaw. “So yeah, I knew. This wasn’t a surprise.”  
  
“You’re so fucking dumb.” His voice shakes with grief and tenderness, and Dean watches as her face spasms once and then recomposes itself. “You sold your sight for-Jesus Ophelia. What do I do now?”  
  
His face falls forward, hides in the side of her neck, and she stares above him with no way of knowing her blue eyes are fixed on Dean. He stares at her, trying not to watch as Sam breaks down against her and she holds him. It should be Dean’s job, his hands itch and ache to keep away from grabbing Sam, because _he can’t touch_. Can never touch again because anything he tries will be marred by the damage he’s already caused.  
  
Ophelia reaches awkwardly, rubs at Sam until the crying slows and Sam is simply breathing heavily into her flesh. Eventually she closes her blank stare, and Dean can look away from the two of them. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be a part of this because he has no right. Every bit of their misery is Dean’s fault and he knows it, but leaving now isn’t an option. No matter how badly he wants to.  
  
“Dean,” she speaks softly and slowly, “can you give us a minute?”  
  
He nods, points to the porch for Sam’s benefit, and steps back into the freezing morning air.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam holds on to her like a lifeline, as if she can keep him from flying off into the chaos his life has become. He hasn’t felt this lost since Brady, and all he wants is to go back to New Year’s Eve and stop her from finding out the truth, from losing her sight, from all of it. Since that’s not an option he holds on and breathes her in. The scent is familiar, comforting, but the awkward way she touches him only reminds him she can’t see him anymore.  
  
“Sammy.” Her voice is so sad, so fucking sad that Sam wants to stop her from talking. Wants them to just be silent and sit here until he doesn’t have to deal with it anymore. That won’t happen though. He has to deal with it eventually.  
  
“Ope, what am I supposed to do? Everything is-oh god _everything_ Ope. Your life, Dean’s, mine, and it’s all-“ He can’t finish, doesn’t try, just holds on to her and hopes she knows the answers now. She’s paid well enough to have them.  
  
“Sam. I can’t tell you what you have to do. You have to decide on your own honey.” He feels her hand travel until it finds his hair. “I've got your fucking back no matter what though. Ok? I know this is-shit Sammy I know.”  
  
Sam’s back is bent so far over it feels like it will break under the weight, and he slithers to his knees so he can hold her more comfortably. “Decide what?” Her tone is off and Sam can’t put his finger on it.  
  
“What you’ll do about Dean Sammy. You have to decide. He won’t.” Her fingers are moving through his hair again, a pattern that is familiar but a speed that isn’t. As if she’s only half there.  
  
Sam pulls back to see that her eyes are wide and staring, her face so expressionless it’s like she’s in a trance. “Ope? You ok?”  
  
Her fingers twitch in his hair, and then she’s pulling her hand back and focusing on him as best she can. “Yes. Of course. I’m sorry Sam I’m fine. What were we-?” Her question trails off and her fingers start to spasm and shake. It’s the first warning, before her back bows and her head snaps so hard it hits the wall behind her.  
  
Sam’s shouting for Dean before he can think about it, pulling her against him and trying to restrain her. Dean slams through the door, and Sam feels that familiar and rough hand grab his shoulder before Dean’s voice comes authoritative and confident. “Let her go softly Sam, on her side on the floor. Stop holding her still.”  
  
He lowers her and then lets Dean pull him back, watches as the older man shoves the table against the wall to give her more space. Dean’s eyes go directly to his wristwatch and Sam watches his lips move silently counting off the seconds as Ophelia jerks and spasms on the floor. The whole thing is going in slow motion, and all Sam can do is watch as his best friend’s brain electrocutes itself.  
  
When she falls still Dean’s at her side instantly, gently tilting her face so he can look at her eyes. “Sweetheart, hey, can you hear me?”  
  
She takes a minute, mouth moving silently as if she’s speaking but Sam can’t hear noise. A shadow crosses Dean’s face and then Ope’s voice comes out slow and thick. “I’m horizontal. Did I fall?”  
  
“You had a seizure Ope. Short but intense. You ever had seizures before?” Dean’s still searching her face, the shadow hidden now.  
  
“No. But it’s a brave new world. Can you get me off the floor? The tile is fucking cold.” Dean lifts her gently, carries her to the living room and then settles her on the couch in a reclining position. Her fingers go for her temple and miss once before finding it. “Goddamn it. That was shitty.”  
  
“Sam,” Dean doesn’t turn when he says it, “get her some water ok?”  
  
He nods, glad to have something to do, and then rushes to the bathroom to dig through the cabinet. He fumbles with the water glass in there before filling it. He’s back in record time, handing Dean everything while being careful of physical contact. Dean notices, and that shadow crosses over again.  
  
Ophelia is pulled into a half sitting position so she can drink, and then lowered again. Sam gets her the comforter from the kitchen and lays it over her before taking a position in the spot Dean has surrendered. “We’re gonna get you to a hospital ok?”  
  
She shakes her head and then frowns weakly. “It’s a side effect of the-no doctors Sammy. Just wanna sleep.”  
  
He sits beside her until she’s slipped into sleep, and then he stands and carefully avoids Dean’s gaze. “How long was the seizure?”  
  
“A minute and forty-eight seconds. Not including before you called me, so probably about two. The danger zone starts around three to five if I remember the manual correctly.” Dean’s hand is rubbing briskly at his hair, Sam can hear it and he risks a peek to see where the green eyes are fixed. He’s not surprised to find them on Ophelia’s prone form.  
  
Sam nods once, and then covers his eyes and tries to breathe deeply, to remember how breathing is supposed to happen. It feels like he’s been short of breath for hours. After a while he hears Dean shift, and then he senses the heat of the older man near him. His lover’s heat. His brother’s heat. The world sways dangerously and strong hands grip his elbows just long enough to lower him and then jerk back.  
  
“Sam. I can go. If you want me to. I can just disappear or I can hide out unless you need me.”  
  
Sam keeps his eyes covered, experiencing a small amount of the darkness the woman on the couch has been staring at all morning. “Wait. I need to-“ He needs to what? _Think_? About what exactly, because the obvious logic is that there is nothing to think about now. The decision has been made for him, Dean is his brother and Sam has lost almost everything in the span of one terrible morning. And the worst part- ah the worst part is still to come. Sam stands suddenly, uncovering his eyes and meeting Dean’s worried gaze. “I’m going to the store. Someone has to. Stay here with her until I get back and I’ll have an answer for you by then. Will you do that?” He doesn’t mean it to sound needy, insecure, but it comes out that way.  
  
Dean’s nodding before he finishes the question, green eyes full of hope and despair all at the same time and Sam’s heart tears just a bit more. “Anything you want Sam. _Anything_.”  
  
He has to step away, stumbles through to his bedroom and throws on clothes before grabbing his wallet and Ope’s keys and heading for the door.


	16. Chapter 16

Sam takes his time at the store, wanders through aisles before picking up random produce, familiar looking boxes, anything that catches his eyes. It’s enough food to cover a week or two as long as it works together, and Sam can’t care less if it does. The store clerk, who he’s seen hundreds of times, glances at his face once and avoids conversation, dropping a carton of Ophelia’s cigarettes in the last bag and repeating the total quietly.

  
Sam makes it out of the store in one piece, despite the fact it feels like his brain is about to explode. It keeps running in a circle, each thought leading from one to another until the loop begins again. It always starts with _decide what_ , moves to _I can’t do this_ , slides smoothly into _he’d hate me_.  
  
In the end though Sam has had a lifetime’s worth of self-deception and he promised himself a long time ago he’d stop. He knew when he told Ophelia to find his family the outcome could be hideous, and while this is way beyond the level of terrible he was expecting he’s not as blindsided as he could be. Mostly because Sam has never expected that when a good thing is given to him it will stay.  
  
He has two choices, and they’re his to make in the end. Dean can agree or disagree, there’s _that_ , but Sam’s choice is what matters in the end because it’s _his_ life. He took it back, gathered the shattered pieces of it and rebuilt it slowly as best he could. The days of letting someone else dictate his actions are long gone. So in the end what matters is if he wants a brother he never knew or a man he loves.  
  
Oh there’re complications, things that shouldn’t ever be considered, because whether Sam wants to admit it or not it’s incest. No getting around that little roadblock. In the end though, he’s never had a brother, and he hasn’t wanted one in years. When he was a kid he’d dream about having a big brother, someone to protect him and talk to him and love him. Now he has a sister for that, one that chose him and he chose back, and he doesn’t need more than that. He needs a partner, he needs someone who can hold him up, make him feel worthwhile when he’s down, and tell him the truth no matter what.  
  
Dean was all of those things, and he’s gotten used to it. Learned to love it. So now Sam’s only choices are to ignore what he wants and give in to Dean’s need for his baby brother Sam, or demand that Dean take him or leave him as Sam his lover.   
  
He loads the car without seeing anything he’s doing, and it’s really a miracle he makes it home. He sees Bobby's car in the yard, vaguely remembers calling the man two days ago and texting him this morning, and then sees something he wasn’t expecting.  
  
Dean bursts through the living room door onto the porch, hands at his sides, and Bobby follows behind him with a face that speaks death. Sam’s out of the Jeep in seconds, crossing the snow to get up the hill and even with them. They reach the steps, descend, and then Dean turns and opens his mouth before Bobby's fist connects brutally with his nose. Sam hears the crunch from his position and speeds up.  
  
“Bobby! Bobby _stop_!”  
  
Dean simply stands there, letting Bobby pummel him with this look on his face that Sam recognizes, remembers too well staring back at him out of the mirror for so long. Determination to be punished, eagerness really to feel pain that is well deserved. When Bobby's fist catches Dean in the stomach and bends him over Sam finally gets even and grabs the older man's coiled arm to pull him back. They struggle, and Sam manages to loop both his arms through Bobby's elbows.  
  
“Let me go boy! Fucking let me go! She’s blind and this idjit-“  
  
Dean’s face comes up into view, one eye already swelling shut, and he looks at Sam with this desolate expression. “Let him go.”  
  
Sam can’t take it, releases Bobby with a shove and watches the hunter’s feet slip out from beneath him. Sam stares at both of them for a long time, lets out a breath and then shakes his head, disgust overwhelming him. “She’s in there, she’s blind, she had a seizure, and you’re out here fighting? Fine. Kill each other. I’m _done_.”  
  
He turns his back on them, loads as many grocery bags on his arms as he can, and then stomps past them up the hill to the kitchen door. He’s honestly surprised when the two come in a moment later, heads hung low carrying the rest of the groceries. Sam puts things away, stares in shock that he apparently grabbed a jar of baby food in his wandering, and then looks up after he’s finished to see both of them standing there looking like beaten puppies.  
  
Bobby's hands are bloody, Dean’s blood, _Sam’s_ blood come to think of it, and he has to close his eyes against the spike of emotions. “Go get cleaned up. Now.”  
  
They obey, and Sam takes a spot at the table and tries to figure out what happened to his life. His neat and orderly life. Ophelia’s right, he has to make this decision. Dean won’t. That face said it all. Dean’s apology over touching him, Dean’s aversion to his skin, all of it has explained more about Dean to Sam than any of their conversations ever could.  
  
The man is self-destructing right in front of Sam, has talked himself into believing their relationship was an extension of the rest of Sam’s misery and that Dean is responsible for all of it. Dean’s self-loathing is even more complete than Sam’s, and that’s a feat really. He has to handle this, has to talk to Dean, but it has to wait for after he’s figured out what to do with his blind friend and the angry older hunter.  
  
It’s while his mind is ticking over points, listing the things he’s going to have to change in the house and what he’ll need to research about living with a blind person that he hears Ope’s voice come from the living room, panicked and confused.  
  
“Sam? Dean? _Somebody_?”  
  
Sam’s up in a second, crossing into the living room and spying Bobby and Dean rushing out of the back from the corner of his eye. She’s sitting up on the couch, blue eyes sweeping the space emptily and her hands held out in front of her. Sam grabs her right hand and watches her jump and then feels the tight squeeze. Her pupils are constricted, the light affecting them without her knowledge, and she tugs once to suggest Sam come closer.  
  
“You ok Ope? Feel sick or anything?”  
  
“Where’s Dean?” She sounds panicked still, and Sam sees fine tremors in the muscles of her hand.  
  
“Right here sweetheart.” Bobby shoots him an ugly look but Dean’s gaze is fixed on her. “What’s the matter?”  
  
“I thought you left.” She sounds like a child woken from a nightmare for a second, and Sam feels grief cramp his face until he stomps it down and speaks soothingly.  
  
“He’s still here. Bobby's here too.” She tensed, leaned back from Sam, and then shook her head and rubbed her face.  
  
“Sammy, you and Dean need to talk. Alone. Leave me with Bobby.” Her face is grim, her hands squeezing his once again before she lets go and Sam holds on for an extra second. When he stands he crosses the room and grabs Bobby's arm.  
  
In the years he’s known both of them Sam rarely steps into their issues. It’s his place, he didn’t think that originally but time has taught him he has some rights to her, but the dynamic is too tangled for Sam to ever really understand it. He’s going to step in this time though, because he’ll be damned if Bobby rushes in to this one. He pitched his voice very quiet in Bobby's ear. “I hear one raised voice, one lecture or insult, I’ll be back in here before you can blink. You got me?”  
  
Sam’s worked hard at avoiding violence since he left Texas, but he’s willing to make exceptions. Bobby's face suggests that Sam hasn’t lost the edge he gained in his bad years. Bobby nods once, tight, and then pulls away and heads to the couch. Sam’s last view of them is Bobby putting her hand on his weathered face, and then he ducked through the door to the bedrooms and listened to Dean’s hesitant steps behind him.  
  
They end up in Ophelia’s bedroom, neutral territory Sam figures, and they stand on either side of her bed staring at the floor instead of each other. Eventually Sam has to break the silence, can’t stand there and take the tension anymore. He keeps one ear cocked towards the door even as he speaks. “Dean. You ok?”  
  
Sam hears the sharp inhale, and turns fully to see Dean’s face. The green eyes, usually so bright and vivid are dead and dull, one swollen half shut, and Dean’s plush lips are pulled into a tight line. Sam waits for Dean to speak, tired of interpreting and unwilling to guess incorrectly. “I’m not-Sam that’s not what you need to be worried about. I can take care of myself.”  
  
“So I’m not allowed to worry about you now? Why? Because you’re older than me? You were older than me before this morning and I could worry about you then.” It’s as close to light-hearted as he can get.  
  
Dean’s mouth stretched tighter, lips almost non-existent, and his hands came up and gestured oddly. “Because I’m the older _brother_ and it’s my job to-“  
  
“You’re not my brother.” Sam feels a cramp of sympathy and grief at the look that crosses Dean’s face. The agony there is almost overwhelming, and he has to tighten every muscle to keep himself on this side of the bed.  
  
Dean swallowed and looked away from him. “Sam I know you’re angry. I know I’ve done horrible things, but I didn’t know. I’m sorry Sammy. I just-“  
  
“It’s not about anything you did or didn’t do.” Sam watched the eyes fly to him, and the fading light hit Dean’s angular face just right to shadow the bruised side, hide everything but the swollen nose. “I’m not your brother Dean. I don’t want to be. My parents are non-existent, my sister is in the living room blind and having seizures, that’s the extent of my family dude. I don’t need more than that, and I don’t _have_ more than that.”  
  
Dean’s mouth worked silently, the agony only deepening on his face. “Sammy-“  
  
“ _No_.” His voice is harsh, thick, and he doesn’t want it to be because he’s hurting Dean enough but this has to be said. “I wasn’t looking for the people who left me because I wanted to reconnect with them. I just wanted to understand. Shit, I still do but I don’t need more family than I already have.” He finally gave in, crossed around the bed and took Dean’s elbow. The older man didn’t fight him, didn’t pull away, but the muscles in that arm became steel. “You can’t change the past Dean. The time we would have been brothers, bonded, all of that stuff, it’s lost. Gone. I’m not interested in being your brother and I can’t be. Your baby brother died in a fire Dean, and all that you’re looking at is the man you fell in love with. The man that’s in love with you.”  
  
Dean’s head was already shaking, and he pulled his arm away. “You don’t-you can’t mean that. We’re blood Sam. We’re _family_. What happened was a terrible mistake but we can-“  
  
Sam grabbed him again, his face this time, and turned it so Dean had to look at him for the rest of it. “Sleeping with me was a mistake? Saying you loved me was a mistake?” Sam tries to keep his tone gentle, but it’s laced with desperation and despair and he can’t stop that. Can’t hide it because he’s denying Dean the same way Dean is now denying him.  
  
“Sam, please, you have to understand. It’s different now. We _know_ now.” Dean’s face is begging him, begging that Sam will let the rest go and just be Dean’s little brother. Give him the chance at redemption he’s wanted for so long. Which is unfortunate because it’s the only thing Sam isn’t willing to give him.  
  
“I don’t care about blood Dean. I don’t care what genetics or society would say or any of the rest of it. What I care about is what we were building before Ophelia found out the big secret. If you don’t want that, then there’s nothing more to say.” He released Dean and stepped away, left the room and walked out into the living room without looking back. If he did he was afraid Dean’s pleading gaze would crumble his resolve.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----

 

Dean avoided everyone, hung back in Ophelia’s room until the dark had fully descended. No one came in to bother him, and no one tried to get him to come out. He was glad.  
  
He’d fucked it all up. Any chances of an easy transition, any chances of having his baby brother back, all of it gone and Dean could only sit there and pout about it like a fucking bitch. Sam didn’t understand what he was saying, too twisted from everything that had happened and Dean certainly hadn’t helped.  
  
Bad enough for Sam to have to fight to survive a string of terrible foster families and then an abusive boyfriend, but now the first guy that comes along turns out to be the one who left Sam to that fate. Dean couldn’t have made this worse if he tried, and _how the fuck_ could he miss _that_? What kind of brother didn’t even recognize his own sibling? Sure it had been years, but there should have been something Dean noticed, something that set off warning bells and made him step back. Instead he’d twisted his instincts, talked them into believing it was some sort of romance movie love instead of a brotherly connection.  
  
Worse, his actions had made it impossible for Sam to see him as anything else. Sam had no memories of him, had been too young for Dean to make any sort of impression, which left him blameless in this whole fiasco. Somehow, someway, Dean had to fix this. Had to get Sam to see that they were brothers and that came first, that they could never be what they were again. The whole thing was a goddamn lie anyway, and the twisting in Dean’s stomach at the thought of never touching Sam again could go straight to hell.  
  
When he came out of his internal rant he saw that the sun had set entirely, and he made his way out of the bedroom silently. He needed to get out, get some air, and he slipped onto the porch before he heard murmuring around the corner. He followed the line of the house through the darkness and saw their outlines on the bench.  
  
He peered at Bobby sitting beside Ophelia, and then Bobby stood up and spoke softly. “O, Dean’s here.” Dean’s never heard the nickname before, affectionate and gentle in a way he hasn't seen Bobby be since he was a little boy being dropped off by his dad. In the darkness he can’t see more than their outlines, but he does pick up Ophelia’s gentle response.  
  
“Ok. Go to bed Bobby. Dean will make sure I get in safely.”  
  
He doesn’t have to see Bobby to see the indecision, the hesitation, and then she’s shoving him through the dark and Bobby stumbles past him and disappears around the corner. He heard her pat the bench beside her and Dean took the spot and felt her hand settle on his thigh before sliding to his knee. Less intimate but still contact.  
  
Her voice is embarrassed and apologetic when it reaches him. “You and Bobby are so fucking quiet if I don’t touch you I won’t know if you’ve left. How are you?”  
  
“Why are you being nice to me?” It’s honestly perplexed instead of harsh, and Dean’s not even sure where it came from.  
  
“Why shouldn't I be?” Her tone matches his and she squeezes his knee once before her other hand is fumbling with a cigarette and lighting it. In the flare of the Bic he can see her face, infinitely sad.   
  
Why shouldn’t she be? The question is too big, has too many answers, and Dean can’t find the words for all of them. He’s inadvertently blinded her, he’s the reason Sam’s so tortured, he’s twisted Sam so badly that the kid can’t even see how important it is that they’re blood, and now he’s going to break Sam’s damn heart when he finally explains that knowledge or no knowledge incest is unacceptable.  
  
He settles for the simple answer, the culmination of all these events. “I’ve fucked up everything.”  
  
“Did you? I missed that. Well you’re right then, fuck you Dean.” Her tone is gentle even if her words aren’t. He bites back his anger for half a second, and then just lets go.  
  
“Is this all a fucking joke to you? I _molested_ my little brother, that doesn’t get better. He’s so fucked up he thinks that we should keep going like we never heard we’re related. I talked you into getting blinded. Don’t kid yourself sweetheart, it probably ain’t temporary. You’re in the dark for life and the next language you tuck under your belt better be Braille.” Even Dean’s shocked with himself, but when he finishes he’s breathing heavy with both hands clenched into fists and he wants so badly to hit something he can taste blood in his mouth.  
  
She’s silent for a long time, so long Dean’s anger drains away and all he feels is shame. The cigarette is almost to the filter, and he takes it from her fingers and crushes it under his heel while he sits in the dark and the quiet.  
  
“Ophelia-fuck I’m sorr-“  
  
“Shut up Dean.” Her hand on his knee is still there, steady and calm, and he can’t see her face but he hears the dangerous tone of her voice. She stands, takes several steps forward and then turns his way and he can see the outline of her arms as she gestures around her. “You self-pitying bastard shut the fuck up before someone other than me has to hear your bullshit.”  
  
Dean watches her head dip down, her hands still moving as if she’s talking out loud, and then she lifts her head back up. “I knew the price and I fucking paid it partially for you but mostly for Sam because _you’re no good to him broken_. So that’s not your fault ‘cause I would have done it with or without your permission you arrogant prick. The answer though, _oh fuck_ , that just made you worse and I kinda knew that was possible too so that’s on me. But Sam? What’s happening with him? That _is_ your fault. Not the part where he was alone for so long, but that you’ve denigrated what was the first time he felt loved and cherished by another human being to some dirty grope session. Molested him? Did you fucking say that to him? No wonder he’s so-“She cuts off and her hands flail for a second helplessly. Dean watches her swerve around and hold her hands out to navigate the air in front of her.  
  
She takes three steps, trips over a potted plant and catches herself on the wall cursing vehemently before he stands up and takes her elbows, holds tightly against her struggle. “Let me get you inside. Just let me get you inside.”  
  
She does, and when they reach the door and he opens it he leads her towards the bedrooms and realizes he has no idea where she wants to go, or where he’s supposed to be. If he had any decency at this point he’d go to the car and just leave. Crawl off and die like a dog. She points, angrily, and whisper shouts at him. “You take my bed. Sleep there. Stay 'til Sam tells you to go or you decide your whiny bullshit is more important than he is.” She pushes his hand off her elbow, feels around 'til she finds the doorknob for Sam’s room, and then stumbles through it.  
  
He hears Sam say her name in alarm and then she closes the door behind her and he’s left alone in the hallway, more ashamed than he’s ever been in his entire life.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
Sam watches her struggle to remove the extra layers, and then find the bed, but he doesn’t offer to help. Her face says she needs to do it alone. “Fight with Bobby?”  
  
She’s settling her head on the pillow before she answers, and Sam watches her expressive face cycle through guilt and anger until it rests on anger. “No.”  
  
It’s enough, he knows what she means, and he wraps her up in his arms and inhales her smell. “He insult you?”  
  
“No. Fuck Sam they’re both head cases.” She’s rubbing at her face like she can scrub the emotions off of it. Sam hasn’t missed that she's all over the place. Apparently can't respond appropriately without visual cues.  
  
Sam reached behind him and flicked off the lamp before pulling her back against him tightly. “Ope. I made a decision. I told him.” He felt her nod and he tried not to stiffen around her, tried to be relaxed no matter what her response ended up being. “You disgusted with me?”  
  
She made a noise, and then he felt a small fist punch into his side weakly. “I could never be. Never. I told you I’d stand behind you Sam and I damn well meant it.”  
  
He let her relax, start to fall asleep, and then he struck when she was most vulnerable. “Are you scared?”  
  
Sam felt her sigh, felt her hands grip at his shirt, and then release before she spoke. “All the time. Ever since I woke up.”  
  
There was a slight hesitation before he kissed the top of her head. “Don’t be scared Ope. Nothing’s going to happen to you while I’m around.”  
  
When Sam woke up she was already awake, gone, and he found her in the kitchen sitting silently at the table with Dean across from her, a scowl on her face. Sam met the green eyes once, watched them skitter away, and felt a brief flare of the same despair before he announced himself and touched her shoulder.  
  
“Good morning Sam. Dean was just offering to make me breakfast, and I was just giving him the silent treatment. Now that you’re here kindly tell him to self-flagellate somewhere else.”  
  
Dean’s eyebrow quirked. “I don’t know that word sweetheart.”  
  
Sam glanced between them and then went to the fridge to get the milk before pouring her a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, setting it down in front of her and then sliding the ashtray closer. “Sam tell Dean he should get a damn dictionary. And then he can fuck right the hell off.”  
  
“You’re better at staring contests than the silent treatment.” It’s obvious Dean is trying to be funny, apologetic to her, and Ophelia turns her head in his direction and raises her pierced eyebrow before proving to Sam and Dean that she’s really mad instead of pretending to be mad.  
  
“I’m even better at them now than I was before.” Her tone is cutting, cold, and Dean’s face goes slack and expressionless, his eyes hooded as he sits back in his chair.  
  
Sam can’t take it this early, and he slams a hand down on the table and feels a flood of guilt when she jumps a foot. “No more arguing. I don’t know what was said and I don’t care. Dean, apologize, Ophelia, be civil.”  
  
He’s honestly surprised at how authoritative he sounds, more surprised when they both hang their heads in shame. Dean looks up first. “I’m sorry Ope. I was a real asshole last night.”  
  
She frowned, tilted her head, and then nodded once as if she was listening to something far away. She held one hand out in his direction and Dean leaned over to take it. “Apology accepted. Stop being an asshole.” There’s a weight to her words but she holds Dean’s hand long enough to show there aren’t hard feelings.  
  
Sam watches her struggle to eat until she gets a rough system down. Today will be about research, and Sam’s no slouch at it.  He keeps glancing at Dean though, watching the other man watch her fight with the spoon until she gets it under control. At some point Dean looks over to see Sam staring, and the pink lips struggle to smile. Sam stands abruptly and puts his bowl in the sink. When he looks back Ophelia’s face is pointed in his direction, but all she says is, “Sam I want my sunglasses. Can you get them?”  
  
Sam goes looking through his room for where she no doubt dropped them and eventually unearths her shades from under her heavy sweater. He’s back at the kitchen door in time to hear Dean say, “-slow down. Where are you?”  
  
When he steps in Dean has a cell phone pressed to the side of his face and his eyes are cutting between the window and Ophelia’s face.  
  
“Yeah, I can be there in twenty-nine or thirty hours. Don’t make a move dad. I’m serious.” There’s a pause, and Dean’s eyes land on him heavily. “Dad. When I get there, after we gank the son of bitch we have to talk. I found Sam.”  
  
Dean nods once, at what Sam doesn’t know, and then he hangs up. His whole demeanor changes in a matter of seconds, the lines in his face harsh and cold, his body tight, and Sam knows the look. Danger is the first word it conjures up, danger and then blood. It’s strange that Sam doesn’t feel the familiar shiver of fear though, just fascination and vague arousal.  
  
Dean’s eyes stay locked on him. “I have to go Sam. Azazel’s popped his head out and dad has a- it doesn’t matter. When it’s over I’m going to bring him here and we’re going to figure this all out. Ok?”  
  
“Yeah. Ok. But Dean?”  
  
Dean’s mind is already wherever he’s going to meet his father, _Sam’s father_ , but he can’t think like that. Doesn’t want to. “Yeah Sammy?”  
  
“It’s not going to change my mind.”  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean wakes Bobby up before he leaves. “Bobby, dad just called. He found the Colt and Azazel. He says it works and he wants us there.”  
  
Bobby looks half-dead, eyes mostly closed, and Dean suspects his stumbling last night had less to do with the dark and more to do with alcohol, a vice he will have to forgo this close to the prize.  
  
“Yeah boy. Ok. Let me get my things.” Hungover but still sharp, on point, and Dean feels a little better about the weird tension he's had since the call came in.  
  
Dean grabs his duffel and heads out the door. He nods once to Sam, can’t respond to his brother’s parting shot, and then leans down and kisses Ophelia’s temple. It surprises him almost as much as it surprises her.  
  
There’s a wave of tenderness that crosses her face and then she strikes out blindly and lands a good solid punch on his forearm. “Come back safe dickhead.”  
  
He’s out the door before he can promise anything he can’t keep. He wonders really how much of the future the goddess showed her, whether or not she’s seen the outcome of this, but he won’t ask. All he really wanted from the ritual was the past. Whatever Jana thinks about the future isn’t Dean’s problem. He’s always believed in writing his own story.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
They land in Osceola, Arkansas an hour earlier than he planned. His father has chosen an abandoned house as base camp, and Dean’s not surprised to see Bobby looks uncomfortable. The older man knows the truth about Sam now, and they haven't talked about it. Even on the long car ride they simply stayed silent. What does surprise him is how tense his dad looks. It would be acceptable if it was the kind of tension that comes before a battle, but this is different. Bobby eyes Dean warily and John won’t even look at him.  
  
“What’d I do now?” He tries to make it sound affable, but instead he sounds angry. Which is fair, because he is angry. _Very_ angry. If Ope is right, and he believes she is, John willingly gave Sam up and Caleb was in on it. Dad doesn’t know that Dean has that much information, so he can’t figure out why he looks so worried about it. There’s no way he can know how mad he is. Dean wants to control it though, because he can’t tell his father that he crossed a line he never should have crossed. That’s he’s done the unforgivable.  
  
“Tell me how you found Sam Dean.” John’s voice is commanding even if his face isn’t. Dean’s powerless against it really, he’s spent his whole life following his father’s commands and it’s only just started to hit him that this may not be the way it’s supposed to be.  
  
Dean’s tilting his head down, pretending to consider the floor for this next part. “The girl in Maine. She started researching how to find him and then she did.” Dean leaves out that she’s been taking care of Sam, and he’s not sure why. Bobby and dad share a glance he watches in his peripheral vision, and then dad takes up the thread.

"This Jeff Burton's girl Bobby? The witch?"

Bobby's face cramps once with something Dean recognizes as danger, but he only nods tightly without really meeting dad's eyes.  
  
“Does she know how he survived the fire?” It’s not the question Dean wanted.  
  
“Yeah. She does. Do _you_?” Now he’s looking them both full on, and Bobby looks confused and uncomfortable, but his dad looks defiant.  
  
“We’ll discuss this later. You get to sleep in the car, we’re moving on to where Azazel is going to be.” To show that he’s done discussing it John turns his back on Dean and walks away. It leaves him with Bobby, who’s fiddling with his trucker cap and avoiding Dean’s eyes.  
  
“Bobby, you know I can't forgive him right? That this is a step too fucking far?”  
  
Bobby looks at him then, grizzled face guilty and distant. “Yeah boy, I do. Believe me I do.”  
  
Dean thought of Sam holding his face and denying their status as brothers, thought of Sam on his knees riding him, and felt his fists clench so tight his blunt fingernails cut his palms. “I'm gonna get answers from him.”  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam spends the first day Dean is gone reading website after website. He moves his computer desk into the living room and installs the software she’s going to need, screen reading and voice-to-text programs, and then when that’s done he sits her down and begins to explain them before he strings ropes up throughout the house.  
  
They spend the second day Dean is gone going over positioning. Wherever she remembers a thing is where they put it, and Sam impresses upon her the importance of following her detailed memory instead of saying she doesn’t know. For the most part she’s right, and Sam makes sure that she holds the guide rope and touches each object to cement it in her memory. He makes her count off steps, sixteen steps from his computer to the kitchen archway, another twelve to the back hallway, and then seven to the bathroom and five from there to her room, ten to Sam’s. He memorizes the numbers with her, helps to make sure she keeps her pace slow and even so that the steps are the same without her going heel to toe.  
  
It’s a process, and he struggles to make sure that he doesn’t push her too hard but he doesn’t help her too much either. She’s got bruises by the time they’re done, but she grins broadly when she finds the beer in the fridge on her own, gets the bottle opener, and then opens her own beer. She misses the trash can when she throws the bottle cap away, but Sam’s too busy wiping his eyes to notice.  
  
It’s on the night of the second day that the nightmare comes, and Sam knows without needing the nausea and headache afterwards that it’s one of the special ones. He gets them anyway. He wakes from the dream screaming, the image of Dean in the backseat of a car with a strange man and Bobby, the truck slamming into it burned into his memory as Ophelia thrashes upwards beside him and grabs for him.  
  
She struggles blindly to get Sam to the trashcan before the vomiting takes over, and then he’s reaching helplessly for her shirt and begging, _begging_ her to call Dean. Call him now, because Dean’s about to die. Sam’s seen it. He sees the question on her face and shakes her shoulders too harshly. “I’m fucking telling you Ope it’s like before. Call. Now.”  
  
Ope obeys, fumbling with the phone, gets Dean’s voicemail, and leaves him a message about Sam’s dream. Sam refuses the pills, doesn’t want to fall asleep and miss Dean calling back, and then the two of them sit up in the kitchen until the sun rises, but the call never comes.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
Dean’s been gone for five days and Sam can’t stand it, his skin is crawling and they still haven’t heard anything. No text messages, no calls, nothing. Ophelia doesn’t bother trying to soothe him, instead she submits to his need for distraction. They go over placement more, handle how she’ll shower and use the bathroom. The first time she pours herself a glass of milk without spilling it all over the counter Sam knows she’s crying even if she tries to hide it.  
  
The seventh day is when the answer comes. The sun has started to set and Ope's pushing him to eat at least one of the hotdogs he’s made. When her phone rings she pulls it out and fumbles it open in a matter of seconds. Sam grips the arms of the chair so tightly he’s amazed they don’t break, holds on though just so he won’t try to grab the phone from Ope and scream into it.  
  
He gets this half of the conversation only, Ope's head nodding businesslike as she half-repeats what’s being said for Sam’s benefit.  
  
“In the hospital, alive but critical. Car accident. Azazel dead.” Ope's face tightens, but Sam can't read the expression, doesn't want to really. _Critical_. Dean was critical. Sam reached out and took Ophelia’s hand, gripped it tightly, and then held it so that he wouldn’t surge upwards and run.  
  
“Ok Bobby. Keep me updated.” Ope's face goes troubled for a second, but her voice comes out calm and controlled. “Yes I'm fine. It's fine.” Blue eyes swept over the room and Sam felt what little blood was left warm go cold. He started to shake at that look. “I see.” She closed her eyes and swallowed. “Yeah I’ll do that Bobby.”  
  
When Ope hung up she rubbed wearily at her face before speaking. “They killed the demon, and then some other piece of shit ran them down in an eighteen-wheeler. They’re all alive but it’s touch and go for Dean right now. Sam?”  
  
”How touch and go?” It’s not what he wants to ask but his lips feel numb and he can’t make them move in the formation of the words he wants. _Will Dean die?_  
  
“Very.”  
  
Sam feels the breath lock in his throat, his hand shaking in Ophelia’s tight grip, and he turns to look at her but her face is pointed awkwardly between the window and the space she knows Sam occupies.  
  
“Ok."

"Um, there's one other thing. Bobby is-” She rubs at her face again and then clears her throat. "Bobby needs to know everything. About Brady. He said it's important."   
  
There are no more words. There's nothing left to say.


	17. Chapter 17

They end up on speakerphone. Bobby sounds even gruffer than normal. _"Start from the beginning Sam."_

  
“Brady was a demon.” The words fall flat in the kitchen. Sam expects them to echo ominously, to bring on creepy violins and dim the lights, but they’re delivered and the world stays the way it was only moments before. “I didn’t know when I met him, but I figured it out after I moved in. He fed me this drug, except it wasn’t a drug. It was his blood, and it made me powerful. The dreams started after that, and I could do things. A lot of things. Brady would have me practice them. Telekinesis, honing the visions, and exorcisms. At least he said they were exorcisms. Sometimes the possessed person lived, sometimes they didn’t, but he didn’t really care either way. I drank it for a year, and then I hit my limit after he brought me a little girl and told me to exorcise her. At that point I wasn’t really sure any of it was real, I thought maybe it was a side effect of the drug, all the shit I was seeing, but now I’m sure it was.”  
  
He’d let go of Ophelia’s hand to lean forward and towards the phone. If Bobby was going to kill him Sam could only hope that he’d be given some warning, that Bobby would stick around to care for Ophelia. Someone had to and it didn’t look like Dean would…he cut himself off abruptly. He couldn’t think like that. Dean _had_ to live, whether Sam did or not.  
  
“After Ophelia had me go cold-turkey it all stopped and I thought it was over, but the Shifter dream let me know it wasn’t. The other stuff hasn’t…I haven’t tried but I don’t think it’s come back. Just the dreams.” He swallowed hard and kept his eyes on the phone. “So whatever you have to do, can I get things in order first?”  
  
There’s a noise behind him that he can’t identify, and then her chair clattered as Ophelia pushed herself up, grabbed Sam’s shoulder and used it as a guide to move in front of him. She groped upwards 'til she had his face in her hands and then she shook him. “No one’s hurting you. No one. Don’t fucking talk like that. You’re fine, isn’t that right Bobby?”  
  
 _“Caleb says I need to keep an eye on you, but…”_ Bobby made a helpless noise and then cleared his throat. _“Look Sam, it’s not that I think you’re dangerous just that Caleb says-“_  
  
Ophelia’s still got that grip, her face pointed towards Sam like she’s staring at him even though he knows she can’t. He wonders idly if she’s picturing his face right now. “Caleb can take a long fucking walk off a short pier. Caleb is not here, Caleb does not know Sam, but _Bobby_ does. Has he ever been dangerous Bobby? Ever?”  
  
Sam can practically hear Bobby consider it, see him weigh the pros and cons for a long silent minute in his mind's eye, and then his decision is made. _“No. He hasn’t.”_  
  
Sam keeps his mouth shut. The logical thing, the _responsible_ thing would be to remind them that Sam is a former addict, and that addicts never really get cured. If there was temptation, if he was offered the blood again, he might take it. He may not be dangerous now but Sam has the potential and he knows it. Still if Bobby lets him off the hook then he has a better chance at reunion if, _when_ , Dean gets better.  
  
He’s not sure what he expects from Ophelia really. Bobby is hesitant, wary, and that’s about the best he could have hoped for. Ophelia is standing in front of him still, arguing for him, but Sam’s fairly certain that when she's had time to consider she won’t be so adamant. After all, he’s admitted to being partly demon and she’s become very vulnerable very quickly. She knows he hurt people now. Knows he's tainted to his very core.  
  
“So we don’t listen to Caleb, and we don’t listen to anyone else who wants to stick their noses in our business. We stay here and they stay there.” Her hands are shaking against his skin, and it takes Sam a moment to look from the phone to Ope’s face. Her mouth is twitching spastically, tears leaking from the bottom of the sunglasses, and there are fine tremors moving over her body.  
  
“Ope? You ok?” Sam is standing in seconds.  
  
 _“Sam? What's happening Sam?”_ Bobby sounds on the verge of panic.  
  
“I’m fine.” Her voice is uncertain, thick, and it sends chills through Sam’s blood. “Who lit the goddamn match?” Her hands clenched once, twice, three times, painfully tight on the sides of his face and then she let go and her mouth got back under control. “Jesus I’m tired.”  
  
Sam’s pulling her forward before she can slump, holding her up and carrying her into the living room before gently lowering her onto the armchair. “Ophelia are you ok? Do you know where you are?”  
  
The face she makes is one of distaste. “I’m at home in the living room Sam. I’m fine, just fucking tired. Emotionally draining day. Let’s go to bed ok?” He doesn’t miss the plaintive note. They’ve been sharing the same bed since the day she woke up. It’s been the only consistent time she’s let him touch her, because it’s when she’s the most scared. Bad things come in the dark in her thought process, and they can see through it.  
  
Sam gets the phone, explains to Bobby, and then goes back to the living room and tries to sound soothing. “Ok Ope. Let’s go to bed.”  
  
He waits for her to fall asleep as he rubs at her back, and when she’s out he slips from the bed and calls Bobby back. His voice is weary, and Sam can’t imagine he sounds any better. _“What the hell was that?”_  
  
Sam’s got a suspicion but he doesn’t like it. He heads for the computer set up in the living room and opens the web browser before searching. He gets his answer fairly quickly. “Simple partial seizure. Fuck.”  
  
Bobby makes a noise and then Sam hears somebody call his name in the background. _"Ok boy. What do you want me to do next?"_  
  
Sam stared at the screen desolately, and then stood and looked around the room. “I don’t know Bobby. She needs a goddamn doctor. We have no idea if this is really related to the ritual. She could have gotten head trauma anytime and that could cause it. There could be a serious problem here.” Epilepsy, neurological condition, cancer Sam’s head helpfully supplies. Most of which had symptoms Ophelia had no way of explaining or recognizing.  
  
He can hear Bobby's hand scraping on his own stubble. The wonder of modern technology. _“I’m sorry Sam. I shouldn’t have even considered what Caleb was saying. She’s right, he doesn’t know you.”_  
  
“But he knows what I did somehow.” Sam’s still not clear on that part, how they could possibly know any of that when even Ophelia didn’t know the details. “I did a lot of bad shit Bobby. It’s natural not to trust me. _I_ don’t always trust me.”  
  
Bobby grunts noncommittally and then says something Sam can't make out to someone else. _“You’d take a bullet for her. You’ve patched her up better than I ever could, and you’ve always taken care of her after she gets herself hurt.”_ Another muffled conversation and then Bobby is back. _“You may be dangerous to others, but to be honest she comes first and she’d die without you. Understand?”_  
  
Sam nodded once, swallowed, and then revisited the other part of their earlier conversation. “What are Dean’s chances?”  
  
 _“Truthfully? Not good Sam. I’m sorry ‘bout that too.”_  
  
Sam swallows hard and makes sounds that may or may not be words. Bobby eventually cuts off the conversation and Sam is infinitely grateful. He puts the phone in his pocket and heads for the bedroom. Keeps his eyes closed and counts off forty-five steps in her slow pace. When he reaches the bedroom he pulls her against him, and cries into her hair. If she wakes she’s good enough not to speak.  
  
  
  
  
\------  
  
  
  
  
Dean wakes from a nightmare he can’t remember to a tube in his throat and wires attached to every surface of his body. He thrashes briefly, gets himself under control even as doctors and nurses are swarming him to take the tube out.  
  
He looks around to see his dad, beaten and tired looking, standing in the doorway. They’ve killed the demon that killed mom. Vengeance is theirs, and yet there’s a hollow feeling because Dean needs to finally talk about Sam. The ice chips in his mouth melt slowly as he tries to muster up the strength to talk through his ripped up throat, but his father steps forward and commandeers the conversation before Dean can try very hard.  
  
He leans in, the familiar scent of his father’s aftershave replaced by hospital smells and a faint lingering scent of sulfur that raises alarms 'til John’s words penetrate his brain, whispered directly into his ear.  
  
“Dean. You’ve always made me proud and I love you son. I’m sorry about Sam, it had to be done, but now that you’ve found him keep an eye on him. _Watch_ him. Keep him on the straight and narrow boy, because if he falls off, even for a second, you’re going to have to put him down.”  
  
Before Dean can make words pass his pain and incredulity his father is up, meeting his eyes, and then gone. It’s the last time Dean sees his father alive.  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
Eleven days after Dean has left and Sam is leading Ophelia along the ropes he set up on the porch. He has to watch her carefully here, there’s ice she can slip on, the back of the house faces a slope and if she falls over the railing…  
  
She jerks once and grabs at the rope fearfully when Sam's phone rings. It occurs to Sam that there hasn’t been much in the way of noise between the two of them since the day he confessed his sins. Sam answers the phone and steadies her. Bobby tells him about the sudden death, the waking up, and that they're coming. He adds that Caleb is following them. Sam offers only one sentence in response. “We’ll be ready for you.”  
  
It’s odd, but Sam understands after a moment. When Bobby said his dad was dead he meant John Winchester. John Winchester is dead, but _Dean_ is _awake_. Dean is alive, and so much weight falls off of Sam’s shoulders he almost stumbles at the relief of it.  “Ok.” His lips feel numb again and when Ope touches him awkwardly he grabs her up and squeezes tightly. “Dean’s alive.”  
  
She hugs him back, and then pats his back twice to suggest he’s crushing her. He lets go and makes sure her footing is secure before he steps back. Everything else can wait, all the other worries and fears can wait, because _Dean is alive_. The world is beautiful again, the sun doesn’t seem such an affront to Sam’s sensibilities, there’s blood pumping in his veins because Dean’s is going to keep pumping too. It’s stupidly whimsical and romantic but Sam feels like the female protagonist in a musical, like any second ghostly instruments will indicate he has a song cue he’s missing.  
  
Ope’s question is the reality check that assures Sam won’t sing aloud. “Who are we getting ready for?”  
  
That’s when Sam finally buckles down. “Bobby and Dean are coming here. They're bringing Caleb.”  
  
Sam watches the way her face tightens. How she grips the rope and shakes her head once before cursing, low and hard, and then making her slow way inside.  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
Every time Dean closes his eyes he sees the progression of events. The death of Azazel, the impact of the truck, waking to his father and that fucking horrible set of last words, and then hearing the doctors and nurses scrambling, and the shouts for a crash cart. The finale is always the pyre, Bobby laying one heavy hand on his shoulder and Dean struggling not to shrug it off. Caleb standing silently in the background. It’s strange, but all he wants at that moment is the warm and familiar weight of Sam. The thought isn’t healthy, doesn’t jive with Dean’s determination to make them brothers instead of lovers, but it’s all he can goddamn think about.  
  
He realizes now Sam will never know their father, never see the link between them, and what the hell killed his father anyway? He remembers the fleeting impression of sulfur, and Bobby telling him over and over again how they thought he’d die. He never uses the word miracle, and Dean’s pretty sure he knows why.  
  
So between the weight of being told he may need to kill his baby brother and the possibility that his father sold his soul for him Dean would like to just get blind drunk and never move. When Bobby tells him how badly the Impala is damaged, the only home Dean has ever had, he shrugs it off like it’s nothing. It can’t dent the rest of the tragedy Dean is dealing with. Water off a duck’s back.  
  
Bobby drives them to Maine, and when they turn down the driveway Caleb mumbles, “Pretty damn isolated.” Dean manages to grunt his agreement.  
  
The two of them are waiting on the walkway, and Dean vaguely registers that a long rope has been set up along the length of the porch before Sam is pulling Ophelia forward and muttering, “Two steps, straight forward.”  
  
Her arms move out, and Dean’s shocked to find that he wants this. She grips him tightly, her little body pressed into his and swallowed by him, and he feels the solid weight of her even as she speaks gently. “Dean. Hi.” He realizes that she’s probably the only one here who really understands his mixture of grief and guilt, and no one else knows the depth of that sympathy. Except she doesn't know that, that they're now connected in being the cause of their parent's deaths. He grips her a bit tighter and then lets go.  
  
Sam steps up next, face tight and unsure. They stand there awkwardly, and then Dean reaches out first and pulls Sam forward. They hug for a short time, Dean keeping the contact light and breaking it off once it reaches the point he can barely stay there. He longs for it really, the contact and the warmth, but he can’t have it. Can never have it again. He’s too raw to be tempted by it. He needs his brother to grieve with him now. He’s _sure_ that’s what he needs. When he pulls back again he sees the stark outline of bruises on Sam’s jaw, framing his face. They look like fingers, and Sam catches his gaze and shakes his head once, firmly, eyes cutting to Ophelia.  
  
Bobby's already stepped behind him to hug Ophelia tight and Dean waits for Caleb to step forward before he gives introductions. “Caleb, this is Sam.” Sam nods once, eyes wary, and Caleb nods back at him. Ophelia steps up and tilts her face. Dean’s already warned Caleb about her blindness, so Caleb takes the hand she’s held out even as Dean says her name.  
  
There’s silence for a moment, and then Ophelia frowns slightly. “I want to clear the air Caleb, you’re Dean and Bobby's friend, and you’re welcome to stay here a while. On the other hand if you say one ugly word about Sam, threaten him, hell if you even look at him wrong and I find out I’ll figure out a way to make you suffer to your last fucking breath.”  
  
Dean watches Caleb's eyebrows climb his forehead. “Got it ma’am. Thanks for the shelter.”  
  
Her smile is tight, hard, “You’re welcome.” She finally releases Caleb's hand and turns to walk. Dean notices she doesn’t stumble, hears Sam’s low grunt as she reaches the steps and climbs them carefully, and then her hand trails along the rope as she walks in. Dean catches Bobby's eye and the three hunters fall back.  
  
“She’s doing better with the navigation.”  
  
“Ropes help. Lotta practice. Sam’s system.” Dean doesn’t miss the way Bobby stares, how hard he’s focused on Ophelia’s progress across the porch. Caleb stays silent beside them as Dean takes it all in and decides which question to ask first.  
  
“How’d Sam get the bruises?” He hears the sharp undertone in his voice and sees Bobby wince.  
  
“I don't know. Gonna have to ask him son.” Bobby sped up and left them behind as he joined the other two on the porch. Dean rubbed at his mouth for a second and swept his eyes around the yard, taking in the snow and the diminishing wood pile.  
  
“Nice place.” Dean glanced Caleb's way once and then looked back towards the door. “Sam got tall.”  
  
Dean clenched his fists and kept his jaw tight. If he even looked Caleb's way he was afraid he'd break the hunter's neck.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam made dinner and tried to avoid everyone’s gaze. He didn’t miss the way the new guy kept his eyes on him, or how Dean couldn’t seem to decide what he wanted to look at. He tried to focus on the length of time the meatballs needed to bake, how much seasoning he should add to the sauce, and slicing garlic bread. Bobby chatted quietly with Caleb and Dean at the table about hunters they knew, cases they’d heard about, what appeared to be a combination of idle chatter and shop talk so bizarre it made his head hurt.  
  
Even the awkwardness before Dean left to help his father couldn’t compare to this. Sam kept finding himself looking to Dean, eyes downcast and sweeping over the older man, and he didn’t like what he saw.  
  
Dean’s face was pale, bruised, and empty. The green eyes stared dully around, occasionally narrowing and then going back to faking interest, faking care, and Sam didn’t miss the way the muscles in his jaw would clench and unclench. He looked distracted, he looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown. Had he grieved at all, or was he just locking it all down inside of himself and pretending it was ‘business as usual’? Sam was willing to bet on the second one.  
  
Still, distant or no, he was so damn relieved to see Dean back and alive that he could work through the rest of it. They could talk, they could fight, whatever was necessary for Sam to get through to Dean, to break that shell and help him. The rest of it, their relationship, could wait until after Dean had properly grieved. Dean had taken care of Sam, and it was damn well Sam’s turn to take care of Dean.  
  
Bobby gave the meal a gruff compliment and Sam gave an equally short thanks. They ate silently for the most part, Sam keeping one eye on Dean and the other on Ophelia. When dinner was over, and wasn’t Sam grateful for that, Ophelia stood and laid her fingertips on the guide rope before speaking. “Caleb, you’ve got your choice of the living room or the basement. There are fireplaces in both, but the basement couch becomes a bed and the living room one doesn’t.”  
  
Caleb looked at Dean and then adjusted his cap. “Where’s Dean sleeping?”  
  
“My room.” Sam didn’t miss the way Caleb's eyebrows rose, or the suspicious look he sent Dean. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the man was guessing at, and Dean didn’t give any indication he was wrong.  
  
“I’ll take the basement if it’s all the same to yah. My back ain’t too fond of small spaces.” Caleb stood and caught Dean’s eye. “Night.”  
  
Bobby and Dean mumbled a response, Sam stayed silent, and then Caleb was following Ophelia into the living room. Sam suppressed the urge to follow and make sure she didn’t go down the narrow stairs. He’d set up the couch bed earlier in the day, laid down sheets, and lit the fire down there. They’d figured the man would want the privacy and space.  
  
Bobby looked between Dean and Sam, and then stood and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m gonna make sure the girl is ok. I’ll be back.” He ducked from the room, and Sam briefly glimpsed him crossing by again with Ophelia in front of him.  
  
So now it was just him and Dean. Sam took a seat across from him at the table and watched the beloved face carefully.  
  
“How’d you get the bruises?” Dean’s eyes were on his jaw as he asked, and Sam reflexively touched one of the spots before putting his hands down.  
  
“Ophelia was holding my face and she had-“ He swallows here as he considers the doorway for a second. It’s hard to think about because the more research he does the darker the outlook is. She’s experiencing at least two different types of seizures, and there could be more that he's missing. The arguments about taking her to a doctor have become increasingly loud and ugly. “She had a simple partial seizure. She stayed conscious but her hands clamped down. She doesn’t know, and I’d like to keep it that way.”  
  
Dean’s eyes moved to the doorway and he leaned forward a bit, hands still clenching and unclenching as he considered. “Is that better or worse than the one she had first?”  
  
“If she were on medication? If she actually had a condition that caused them? If there wasn't a chance there are other side effects she can't feel? Better, but she isn’t and doesn’t, so it’s a symptom of worse. I’m trying to force her to see a doctor, there could be head trauma.”  
  
“But she thinks it’s the ritual and they can’t help.”  
  
Sam nodded hopelessly and then turned and reached, hesitantly touching Dean’s hand before withdrawing quickly. “How are you?”  
  
“I’m fine Sam. Just fine. How are you?” His voice is odd, tight and distant, and Sam winces at the tone of it before composing himself.  
  
“I’m worried about you. You just got out of the hospital and then you traveled halfway across the country. You look like you haven’t slept, haven’t grieved, and none of that is very good for you.” Sam watched Dean jerk involuntarily and plowed ahead. “You lost your dad Dean, you can grieve if you want to. It won’t make you weak.”  
  
“We lost our dad Sam. Jesus, _we_ did.” Dean’s hands fisted at his hair briefly and then scrubbed viciously over his bruised face. “You know that right? You haven’t ignored it in the interest of fucking me that he was your father too and now he’s dead? Are _you_ grieving?”  
  
Sam kept his eyes on Dean’s face, waited for their gazes to be locked, and then swallowed once. Hardened himself against Dean's inevitable reaction. “I’m sorry for you and your loss. I’m sure he was a good man. But I didn’t know him, and he wasn’t my father.”  
  
For half a second, Sam thought Dean had shut off completely, which was why the fist hitting him in the face took him so off-guard. He crashed backwards off his chair and into the china hutch behind him even as Dean was following him down and grabbing his shirt.  
  
They stayed that way, Dean with his fist cocked back and Sam on the floor looking up at him for a long time. It was when Sam touched his own lip hesitantly, felt the split and the trickle of blood, that Dean’s eyes widened. His fist loosened, he stepped back, and then he covered his face and took several deep breaths. “Jesus Sam, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-“  
  
Dean spun on one heel, and left the room so quickly Sam could barely follow his progress. He stayed there on the floor, feeling the pain in his lip and his lower back and trying to remember what it had been like when everything was happy.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean had thought the few times Sam had looked at him fearfully would haunt him forever, but the look Sam had in the kitchen was infinitely worse. It had been fear, yes, but only a small amount of it. The dominant look in Sam’s eyes had been _acceptance_. As if Sam’s place in the universe was on the floor, under the fists of someone he loved. Dean briefly wondered if that was the face Sam had made in front of Brady, the look he’d had when Brady beat him. Dean was as bad as a demon. _Not surprising_.  
  
He looked up at the knock on the door, and then gruffly stated that it was open. Ophelia came through and found the edge of the bed. Sat carefully. “Dean where’s the ashtray?”  
  
He found one and put it under her hand. “Here to tell me I’m an asshole? ‘Cause believe me sweetheart, I know it well enough.”  
  
She frowned and lit a cigarette before gripping the ashtray carefully. He watched how she tapped after every drag, how her fingers kept testing the edge, and wondered just how much drilling Sam had put her through to make her function so well.  
  
“Why is Caleb here?” She kept her face pointed towards him, her hands moving constantly.  
  
“To make sure I don’t go off the deep end and that Sam ain’t a demon.” Because if he was Dean would have to put him down, and if Dean couldn’t do it Caleb would. Dean had wondered constantly what he would do if any of Caleb's tests came back positive. If he could actually…fuck. It wasn’t right, wasn’t _fair_ , to put this on Dean. To give him his brother back, make him fall in love with the guy, and then tell him he had to kill him. What the fuck had his father been thinking? Not for the first time Dean wished he'd had just a little more time. Enough to get _answers_.  
  
She nodded as if that’s what she expected and then tapped her cigarette again, she put the ashtray carefully on her knee and then reached over and groped 'til she found Dean’s hand. The one he’d punched Sam with. He almost took it from her, but he held still as she felt the knuckles. “There’s a limit to the amount of mistakes you can make in the wake of your grief. I’d suggest you not cross it.” She paused here and her head moved around the room for a second before resettling on his direction. “Sam had a nightmare about your crash. I’ve never-he’s never been so broken up.”  
  
Dean thought about that, remembered vividly Sam’s panic when she’d been taken. Sam had one of those episodes for _Dean_. Had one of those episodes and Dean wasn’t there to calm him down. He’d seen the call from her, the voicemail, and ignored it. If he hadn’t would-his thoughts were interrupted when a sharp slap connected with his knuckles.  
  
“I can hear you making everything your fault. It’s goddamn distracting.” For a moment, just a moment, as her head moved around the room again Dean forgot she was blind and followed her gaze. “Do you remember when you stitched me up after the Shifter?”  
  
Dean read the subtext easily. “Yeah I remember.”  
  
“Other people make choices Dean and we can’t control those choices. Even if they’re made for us. You got me?”  
  
Dean nodded once, remembered she couldn’t see it, and grunted acknowledgement. “You were right. They tricked me. Left Sam at that hospital.”  
  
She nodded once absently and stroked his knuckles softly. “Ok. Well that was shitty of them.”  
  
“Dad wanted-he said if Sam-“ Now it was him gripping her hand tightly.  
  
“If Sam was evil you should kill him. I know you don’t agree with Sam’s choice, but do you think he’s evil?”  
  
“No.” It was a whisper and Dean cleared his throat and forced volume. “No, and no one’s gonna hurt him while I’m around.”  
  
She smiled oddly, and nodded before squeezing his hand once. “That’s good. Let me ask you a question though.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean watched her bite her lip, hesitate, and then she reached up 'til she found his face. Her fingers stroked his jaw once and then settled on his lips.  
  
“Can you roll a joint?”  
  
Dean didn’t try to stop the laughter that bubbled up inside him.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
Sam walked into the kitchen to find the floodlight outside on and the kitchen door unlocked. He walked out on the porch to see Dean and Ophelia sitting on the bench, each wrapped in a blanket and laughing softly. He took the patio seat and watched them.  
  
Dean turned his way, eyes bright and shining, and Sam saw how dilated his pupils were despite the floodlight’s brightness.  
  
“Are you two high?”  
  
Ophelia put her finger to her mouth and missed, tried again, and then they both started laughing. “ _Sam_. Sammy. High and drunk.” Ophelia held the bottle up and showed him that it was halfway down, amber liquid rolling in the light.  
  
Dean leaned back and grinned at Sam, open and honest in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time, and Sam felt his heart clench. “Your friend is a lightweight. I’m not close to drunk.”  
  
Ophelia struck out and managed to land a blow to Dean’s chest. “I’m your friend too you huge dick.”  
  
Sam didn’t want to laugh, didn’t want to encourage them, but he did anyway. It was so normal, so _good_ to see them like this. To see them both smiling honestly for the first time in so long. “Was this a really good idea?”  
  
“Best idea she ever had.” Dean leaned forward and slapped Sam once on the knee, hand lingering for half a second and then jerking back. “You’re a good guy Sam. Good guy. Nobody can say different.”  
  
Ophelia shook her head and then leaned forwards and pointed towards the yard. “No one but assholes.”  
  
Dean nodded, over serious, and Sam almost stood up and left. It wasn’t quite what he wanted, but it was close. It was hard to be near. “Well thank you both. Let’s see what you say when you’re sober.”  
  
She waved a hand and pointed again, directions all off, “Shut up Sam. Good guy. Now and forever. Put the match out.”  
  
He felt the smile die on his face, remembered what she had said last time and really looked at her. Her mouth was jerking again, hands gripping the blanket and letting it go spastically. “Ophelia do you smell something?”  
  
“Sulfur. Goddamn sulfur.” Her body started to tremble and Dean looked over in alarm. “If the bond is broken then everything is lost. It was the only way out. The only way and it broke. So fix it.” Her hands clenched and unclenched, nostrils flared, and Dean was in front of her and pulling her sunglasses off before Sam could move.  
  
He watched as her eyes jittered back and forth, mouth moving even without sound and tears leaking down her face. “Ophelia.” Dean’s voice was a bucket of cold water, authoritative and calm. “You’re having another seizure. It’s ok, Sam and I are here.”  
  
It happened so quickly Sam couldn’t quite explain it to himself later. She reached out, hand jerking and shaking the whole way 'til she had a death grip on Dean’s shoulder even as her mouth continued to twitch and spasm. “ _It’s watching us._ ”  
  
If Dean hadn’t been there she would have hit the ground, and he managed to spread the blanket over the porch floor as she jerked on it. Her eyes rolled up, whole body involved in the tremors now as her hands drummed helplessly at her sides. It hadn’t been this bad since the first one, and Sam felt the tears on his face as he watched her.  
  
When it was over she covered her face, and Sam saw what had happened in the midst of her seizure. He pitched his voice low and soft. “Ope. Let’s get you inside and change your clothes. It’s bed time ok?”  
  
She nodded, moaned low and thick in the back of her throat, and let Dean wrap her up in the blanket and lift her from the ground. Sam opened doors for them, took her from Dean at the bathroom and stripped her down accepting clean clothes from Dean’s outstretched hand. She stayed pliant, weak, and Sam made sure she was fully clean before holding her soiled clothes out the door so Dean could toss them down the chute.  
  
She gripped him once as he led her into the bedroom. “I’m sorry Sam. Tell Dean I’m sorry. I ruined a good time. I just-“ She stopped abruptly, hands covering her face again.  
  
Sam couldn’t do more than make soothing noises and hold her until she fell asleep.


	18. Chapter 18

Sam snuck out of the room after she had fallen asleep to find Dean sitting in the hallway with his head in his hands. He sat beside him and stayed silent for a long time, soaking in Dean’s heat and wishing he could be closer. As if Dean could read his mind he put an arm around Sam’s shoulders and pulled him in. They stayed that way listening to the clock tick as Sam shook with the fear that Ophelia was slipping out of his hands. Wasn’t the blindness bad enough?

  
Eventually Dean broke the silence. “Sam.” It had weight, a pulse, and Sam soaked in the sound of it coming from Dean’s mouth, absorbed the universe that Dean could put into one simple word. Love and longing and loss and everything else wrapped into his name and Sam wanted so badly to kiss Dean but instead he held perfectly still and listened.  
  
“Sam I-I’m in a bad way right now. I can’t give you- _Jesus_ Sam I can’t give you what you want. We didn’t know and we crossed this line Sammy and we can’t cross it again. It doesn’t matter if we want to, _we can’t_. You can understand that right?” There’s hope now, mixed in with the rest of it, and Sam focuses on the word _we_ preceding _want_ before he really comprehends the rest.  
  
If he was smart, if he was just a little bit smarter he would roll out of Dean’s hold and move away. He would accept what Dean could offer him and be Dean’s brother so that he could at least have this. This little bit of contact. Because in the end any of Dean’s love was better than none of it.  
  
Instead, what came out of his mouth wasn’t words but a low and desperate noise. It was too much. The father he never knew he had was dead, the mother he didn’t remember was dead, and all that was left was a brother he wanted as a lover and a sister whose brain was trying to kill her. Dean’s arm tightened, but it was too late. Sam was breaking and he knew it. Losing what little control he’d had over himself.  
  
“Dean-Dean-I can’t. I just can’t. You want me to grieve him but he left me there-and you want me to pretend I feel like your brother but I don’t, and neither do you. Please. _Please_ don’t do this to us. We’ll never make it as brothers man. We can’t.”  
  
He’s kissing Dean before he can stop himself, and it’s almost how he remembered it minus Dean’s involvement. Lips plush but dry, Dean’s right arm holding him and his left hand pushing against his chest, but Sam was lost. Drowning, he was drowning, and Dean was his last anchor in the world. There was a minute, maybe more, of Sam’s lips moving and Dean’s holding still, of that contradictory push and pull, and then Sam disengaged and really looked at Dean.  
  
The sharp jaw was clenched tight, eyes shut and two small tears trickling down, and when Dean finally opened his eyes there was green drowned in agony and lust. Sam pulled back. Stumbled his way up and apologized even as he fumbled for the bedroom door. He thought he might have heard Dean call for him to stay, say his name in that way again, but Sam was too busy trying to get away before he grabbed onto Dean and pulled him down into the water Sam had found himself in.  
  
He fell asleep hours later, gripping Ophelia so tight he was worried he’d break her.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
When Sam woke up she was gone, and he walked into the kitchen to find her sitting at the table with Bobby and Caleb. Dean was nowhere in sight. Sam poured himself a cup of coffee and took the seat beside her. Her sunglasses were fixed in place, and for the first time Sam realized Dean handed over his own clothes to dress her last night. The sweats were tied as tight as they could be and still hung low on her hips, the shirt swallowed her, and Sam was overcome for a moment with fondness and fear. She was so tiny. So tiny and so frail.  
  
Bobby broke the silence at the table. “Elephant in the room. Sam, Caleb wants to run some tests on you. Will you let him?”  
  
Sam broke off his staring at Ophelia to look to the new hunter across from him. Caleb eyed him speculatively as he sipped his coffee. Ophelia spoke first.  
  
“I thought I warned you about this.” Her tone was deadly, fingers gripping her mug tightly.  
  
“It’s just a formality ma’am. Sam himself admitted he drank demon blood for almost a year. That’s not the kinda thing you just shrug off.”  
  
Sam looked up at the sound of a thick grunt to see Dean standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at Bobby with hooded eyes before he leveled his gaze at Sam. Which meant now Dean knew, and found out like this, and _fuck_. Sam watched Dean’s face shut down, what little chance he had left disappear into the air, and then Ophelia’s hand found his as if she could sense his distress. She cleared her throat. “Sam didn’t shrug it off. He suffered for fucking months to get it out of his system. What more do you want?”  
  
"Ope-" Dean's voice was almost a warning, but Caleb cut him off.

“Nothing big, just a little holy water, some standard precautions. I’m not accusing him of anything I’m just-“

“I’ll do it.” Her head flew his way, eyebrows shooting above the top of her sunglasses. He could feel the weight of Dean’s stare, it had never left him, but Sam turned instead to look at Caleb. “Whatever tests you want. I’ll do them. That way we can have it over and done with.”  
  
“Sam this is ridiculous. Dean, tell this lunatic Sam’s not a fucking demon.” She had turned her head in Dean’s direction, face pleading and hopeful.  
  
“Caleb's gonna do the tests sweetheart. You and I are going to a doctor together. Get you checked out just in case.” Dean crossed the room and poured himself coffee. “You might want to get dressed.”  
  
“Fuck you. Fuck _both_ of you.” She stood, hands shaking at her sides in rage, and then left the room so angry she forgot the guide rope and the pace she was supposed to keep. Sam heard her hit something, curse, and then a door slammed.  
  
“It’s not an accusation Sam, I just wanna be cautious. In my line of-“  
  
“Stop.” Sam rubbed at his neck tiredly and avoided Caleb's expression. “Just stop. I already agreed.”  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
Dean sat in the driver’s seat of her Jeep and followed the directions Bobby had given him. The doctor’s office was a little over an hour away, and he watched as she fumbled through the CD case and pulled something at random before feeling the dashboard for the slot.  
  
“Want me to-" He cut off when she gave him the finger.  
  
She twisted the volume knob to the right and then leaned back and Dean recognized the song and briefly wondered how in the hell she'd managed to randomly pick it.  
  
 _“You ever love someone so much you thought your little heart was gonna break in two? I didn't think so.”_  
  
He could still feel Sam’s lips on his the night before, the taste of Sam had overridden the lingering taste of whiskey and pot. Had left him half-hard and broken apart until he’d forced himself to leave the hallway and crawl into bed. Now he was here, riding in the car and smothering under the weight of her rage.  
  
 _“Baby did a bad bad thing. Baby did a bad bad thing, feel like crying, feel like crying.”_  
  
Demon blood. Not PCP or something simple, Brady had been feeding his little brother demon blood. Why? What possible fucking purpose could he have for it? Sam, poor fucking Sam, had spent a year hopped up on evil juice and what that even did to a person Dean couldn’t begin to guess. They were halfway to the doctor’s office when he broke down and pulled over on the side of the road before cutting the engine.  
  
“What do you want me to do? Want me to turn around and tell Caleb no, that he can’t test Sam? That won't concern him at all. Want me to send us both to Hell, give in and just grab him? Fuck my brother ‘til we both end up fully damned?” His hands were gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles were white. “What the fuck am I supposed to do here Ophelia, ‘cause I’ll be honest we’re in new territory and I’m a little lost.”  
  
She sat still in the seat, hands rubbing at her thighs and face pointed towards the warmth of the sun against the window. “You said you wouldn’t let anyone hurt him.”  
  
It was so quiet, so weak, and for a moment Dean wasn’t sure he’d even heard it right. “Yeah, I did. I meant it.”  
  
“ _You’re_ hurting him. You are. You’re supposed to take care of him and you aren’t. I’m not-what if-“ Her hands rose, trembling softly and rubbed at her eyes underneath the big sunglasses. “I may not be around much longer Dean. This-“ she gestured helplessly towards her own head, “wasn’t part of the deal. I don’t know what the fuck it is. And with my condition being blind is a fucking death sentence. If I die and you won’t stand up for him then who the hell will?”  
  
It wasn’t angry, she didn’t sound angry, she was resigned and sad and Dean felt his own rage ebb away as if she’d poked a hole in him.  
  
“I don’t know how to stop hurting him, but being his-whatever-it’s not the way. It _can’t_ be the way.” He wanted her to see, maybe if she did she could explain it to Sam. Maybe she could explain it to Dean.  
  
“I didn’t see the rule book that said loving a person was bad. I missed the part where it made you hell bound. I understand the part where the two of you seem to think there’s this line drawn in the sand that says you can’t be both things at once, and I get that. I really do. It’s called a taboo for a reason. But Dean, you have to believe me when I say it’s not a universal taboo, and the book you’re quoting from to condemn yourself and Sam isn’t a book you believe in. You use it as a tool, not as a guideline, and that’s a _big fucking difference._ ”  
  
He was shaking, holding on to his resistance by a thread and this was the wrong place to be if he wanted to hold back. The taste of Sam reared its head again and Dean tried to swallow it down. “I just can’t.”  
  
“Fine. Then at least stand up for him, because by letting Caleb do those tests you confirmed every fear he ever had about telling you what Brady did. You told him you think he’s evil, and that’s what he’s been telling himself for years.”  
  
Several deep breaths and then something she'd said hit him. "How does being blind affect your condition?"

Ope's face tightened briefly and then she twisted the cigarette around in her fingers and put it out on her forearm. Dean let out a bark of shock before knocking it from her hand. Then he realized she hadn't made a sound.

"What-fuck what was that?"

"Congenital insensitivity to pain. It's a-fuck man a lot of medical words that don't mean anything beyond I can't feel pain. Physical pain. I can feel pressure, but not pain."

He waits for the other shoe to drop and when it doesn't come he can't help the shrug. "That stopped you from hunting? I would think that would help."

She made a face and lit a new cigarette. "Dean if I get hit hard enough to break a rib and it punctures my lung I won't know until the blood starts coming up. Break a bone? Done it like fifteen times and each time I don't know until the fucking thing wouldn't work. Ripped my ACL and didn't know. Pain is the body's natural way of saying 'fucking stop that idiot' and I don't have that. You asked about my tongue? I did that shit when I was teething. It was how they got me diagnosed. So when something inside starts crapping out and the only symptom is pain related I'm fucked. If system failure doesn't kill someone like me there's a fairly high suicide rate." She took a deep drag and gestured that he should start moving. He didn't.

"Suicide?"

There's a long pause, and Dean honestly doesn't believe she'll answer. "I never know. Sam rubs my legs out after a run, and he looks me over every night or so to make sure I didn't fuck something up. Before that though? I'd be walking and my knee would just crumble, or my hand would give out. 'Cause I did something, but I didn't know it. Doctors, fuck dude _specialists_ , treat me like I'm some kind of fucking _thing_. I sorta am man. A doll missing parts. Before Sam I just-that day in Texas? I was on this holiday Jeff sponsored and I was planning on climbing that last cliff, getting baked, and then jumping. I couldn't take it anymore. The never knowing, and the constant feeling of being adrift on some fucking sea in a leaky boat. _Sam_ saved _me_. Not the other way around. I was terrified because I could be dying and not know-not fucking care. Then there was Sam, and suddenly I cared a whole fucking lot." She fumbled for the cigarettes and lit a new one. "They can think whatever they want. Sam's my goddamn _hero_. Sam's the reason I'm not a spatter mark in Texas."

Dean started the car, pulled out on the road, and drove to the doctor’s office.

After several long silent minutes he turned her way. "You can win staring contests because your eyes don't hurt from holding them open. That candle thing works because you can't feel the burn."

"Yep."

"I want my twenty bucks back cheater." Even she sounded surprised when she laughed.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
Sam drank holy water, listened to an endless stream of Latin, crossed salt lines and then through an intricate series of symbols that Caleb put together. As if the ones above and below their doors already were faulty. None of it bothered him at all. He almost threw his hands up, almost rolled his eyes when Caleb laid down a thicker salt line and told Sam to cross it. They’d had salt lines for forever, but Sam did it. Gave in because what the fuck else was he supposed to do?  
  
 _Dean knew_. Dean knew and it was exactly as bad as Sam always thought it would be because Dean could see him. Really see him. Ophelia had this bias, this crazy belief in him, but Dean saw the freak, the monster, and what did it matter now? Best to get it over with, settle their concerns as best he could, and simply watch them all walk away. After all Sam had issued an ultimatum last night that would assure Dean’s departure, and then what?  
  
Sam would stay, stay with Ope until she died and then he’d follow her. If she wanted him. Sam didn’t really expect that to last much longer either, because eventually everyone saw Sam for what he really was. When the tests all came out negative, when Caleb had finished explaining that Sam had been marked as a baby, given blood, and leaving him was supposed to hide him from the demons Sam simply nodded.  
  
Evil from the time he was an infant, Sam had never really had a chance. All those foster homes only proved it, inherently Sam was flawed and each and every one of those people had known it. For a long time when he was little Sam dreamed of a family that wanted him, that had been forced to part with him, but now he knew the truth. His mother died for him, his father abandoned him, and now he’d permanently wrecked his brother’s psyche. He just kept nodding, feeling like a bobblehead the whole time, until Caleb stopped talking and asked if he had any questions. Then Sam shook his head and left the room.  
  
What was the point? He saw it in Caleb's eyes every time the man looked at him. After all it was Caleb who had agreed with John Winchester, who had helped to stage the fire and then left Sam with nothing more than a first name and a target on his back.  
  
If he’d been kept in the Winchester clan, given an older brother who would do anything for him, been warned about demons since childhood maybe Sam could have been safe. Could have stayed clean. It didn’t matter though; none of it did, because in the end Sam was what he was. In the end Dean was leaving, closing him out, and somehow Sam found himself sitting at his laptop sending Ruby an email about meeting up.  
  
He needed an outlet, needed to drop some of this tension and there was really no one else. Ruby replied almost immediately, suggested they get drinks together, and Sam accepted. Because, _honestly_ , fuck it.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
The doctor was on his third repetition of the lecture about reporting in faster for something as serious as blindness and seizures while Ophelia faced the window. Dean couldn’t help but notice she did that a lot, looked for the warmth of the sun as if she was seeking the light again. She never did it with artificial light.  
  
He wanted to tell the doctor she was blind not deaf, to grab her up and walk out, _something_ really because standing here listening to the arrogant son of a bitch call her irresponsible while she stared blindly at the sunlight she’d never see again made his blood boil. They’d been sent from the doctor’s office to the hospital, and there Ophelia had undergone both an EEG and an MRI before they drew off blood and started to question Dean in front of her as if she wasn’t in the room. The sun was setting by the time they sent her home to wait for results, and that was after Dean backed her play to not be kept for observation.  
  
They rode home with the radio playing softly, stars peeking out above them and the cold wind whipping through the car as she smoked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to break the silence, to hear more of his faults repeated to him after this morning. After all, she was right about a lot of it. He should have stood up for Sam, should have pressed the fact that Sam didn’t need the tests. Instead he’d fed the kid’s years of self-esteem issues because Dean was too worried about Caleb seeing through him, seeing what he’d done with Sam, to argue. So once again, Dean had abandoned Sam.  
  
He didn’t miss the look Bobby gave him when he’d come in, after the demon blood revelation. The calculating look Caleb sent from Ophelia, draped in Dean’s favorite Led Zeppelin shirt and sweats, to Dean’s ruffled appearance. Didn’t miss it, and didn’t try to argue it. Let Caleb's attention be divided so that he couldn’t see where Dean’s real interests were.  
  
When they reached the house the lights were on, and Dean made sure she made it up the hill and into the kitchen before pushing her gently into a chair and making her a sandwich. She’d eaten half an apple in the hospital cafeteria and then pushed it away with a thick noise before laying her head down on the table. It appeared hospitals drained her as much as they did Dean.  
  
Bobby wandered in at some point and touched her hair gently after saying her name. She grunted around her sandwich and then swallowed hard. “Where’s Sam?”  
  
“A date.” Dean didn’t miss the way Bobby's eyes cut to him, took in the unavoidable tightening of Dean’s fists. Bobby looked away and gave Dean his privacy. “Some girl he knows from school.”  
  
There was silence, and then Ophelia nodded once and put the remains of the sandwich down. “Dean, I want you to read to me tonight. Can you do that?”  
  
“Yeah sweetheart. Latin?” She nodded once and then stood and reached for the guide rope. Her steps were heavy, slower than the pace Sam had explained to him, and when she was gone Bobby met his eyes.  
  
“What’s the news son?”  
  
Dean finished spreading mustard and bit into his own sandwich. “None yet. Lotta lectures, lotta tests, but results in a week. Meantime no alcohol, rest, the usual.” He didn’t ask about Sam’s date. Didn’t ask anything although he wanted to. The thought of Sam out, laughing in that carefree way, smiling with those dimples, had Dean gripping the sandwich so tight he was pushing its contents out of the sides.  
  
“Sam passed all Caleb's tests. Which means he's planning on leaving tomorrow. Says he thinks he wore out his welcome.” Bobby fiddled with the remains of Ophelia’s meal and then picked them up and carried the mess to the trash. “Wanna go with him?”  
  
Dean thought of the Impala, sitting in an impound lot in the city his father had died in waiting for someone to claim it and have it moved. Bobby’s junkyard would be perfect for rebuilding, and Dean would be damned if his childhood home was left rotting in an impound lot. “Maybe.”  
  
Bobby nodded once and grabbed a beer from the fridge. “Headed to bed. See yah tomorrow boy.” The older hunter paused in the doorway and fiddled with his cap. "Dean?"

"Yeah Bobby?"

"I ain't saying it's right or wrong one way or another, but Sam is a special kid. He deserves better than you running out on him. I think he's had enough of the Winchesters doing that for a lifetime."

Dean only grunted, finished his sandwich with slow determination, and then rubbed at his mouth 'til he was under control. When he joined Ophelia in her room she was tracing the spines of her books with slow determination.  
  
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works.” She jumped and pointed a finger at him.  
  
“Gonna put a goddamn bell on you. Make some noise ok?” Dean laughed softly, moved forward and studied her collection.  
  
“What book?”  
  
“Benvenuti. Green cover.”  Dean searched through the books 'til he found the one she wanted and then watched her take a careful spot on the floor with her back to the dresser and the ashtray beside her. He sat on the bed, opened the book, and then started to read.  
  
It was stiff, incredibly informative about demons though, and he slogged through as she nodded occasionally and smoked intermittently. He noticed how dry his throat was at the same time he heard the door between the living room and the back hallway open. Then he heard the feminine giggle, Sam’s voice slurred and pitched low, and the door to Sam’s room opening. He looked over to see if Ophelia had heard it, and his already frayed nerves took another hit.  
  
She had all the symptoms she’d had the night before, when the seizure was still manageable and before she’d hit the ground. _How fucking long had that been happening_? “Ophelia?” He kept his voice low and careful as he crossed the room to her side.  
  
“That smell. Please-shit-“ Her mouth kept moving even as her voice failed her, a hideous parody of dubbed kung-fu movies. Sam had warned him about this, explained the partial seizures in great detail, and the only thing to do was time it, record the symptoms, wait to see if it got worse. He wanted to get Sam, wanted to grab his little brother and drag him in not just to ruin his date but to ease her fear a bit.  
  
Instead he sat beside her, letting her hands grasp helplessly and painfully tight at his arms while he heard Sam’s date progress on the other side of the wall. When the seizure stopped, when she was left leaning weakly against him and crying for a different reason Dean reached over, flipped her stereo on to cover the sound of moans from the next room, and held on.  
  
He waited 'til it had to be over, until he wouldn’t have to listen to Sam’s sounds coming from someone else’s hands, and then pulled her up and offered her the same clothes she’d slept in the night before. She took them silently, changed in front of him with no sign of embarrassment, and then climbed into bed. They lay shoulder to shoulder, silent in the darkness 'til she broke it with a whisper. “I’m sorry.”  
  
He swallowed thickly. She was apologizing for the seizure, which hurt, but she was apologizing for Sam too and that hurt worse. “Do this a lot?” It would make sense. They were blood after all and it was the kind of thing Dean would do. Except she'd explicitly told him he was the first in a long time.  
  
“Never.” Her hand reached out and sought his in the darkness, holding on for long minutes and then letting go. “Not once.”  
  
Dean absorbed that, stared at the stars on the ceiling, and eventually he fell asleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam woke to sunlight burning his retinas, a jackhammer beating against the inside of his skull, and nausea that matched his post-nightmare levels. He was alone in his bed, naked, covered in tiny bites and scratches. Which meant bringing Ruby back here wasn’t a dream, and Sam couldn’t believe himself. He’d just meant to meet with her, to talk to someone who wasn’t drowning in angst for just a few minutes. Instead one drink became six, and then ten, and then coming back to the house, dragging feet through the basement door and into bed while Ruby attacked his mouth the whole way.  
  
Sam made it to the bathroom in time to lose everything left in his stomach, and then he brushed his teeth twice and showered until the hot water ran out. By the time he made it to the kitchen he felt like he’d died twice. Ophelia was there with Bobby, and her sunglasses sat on the table in front of her. Her eyes were dark, heavily shadowed and showing her fatigue. She was wearing Dean’s clothes again, and Sam realized he had no idea where she’d laid down to not sleep. If he thought he’d hit rock bottom the tremulous smile she gave him only made it worse.  
  
“Morning Sammy. Bobby's making waffles.” She lit a cigarette with fingers that visibly trembled.  
  
He didn’t even have time to pour coffee before Dean joined them and took a seat beside her, picking her glasses up and sliding them over her bruised eyes. “Morning Sam. Good night last night?” Dean’s smile was lascivious, empty, and he waggled an eyebrow before relaxing back into his seat.  
  
It was too much, too soon, and Sam couldn’t even begin to process it. He was pretty sure at some point last night he’d thought what a good idea it all was. To show Dean he was capable of getting his kicks elsewhere. Cause jealousy and hurt. _Something_ , there’d been logic when the alcohol was involved, but now he was only ashamed at his behavior. He took a seat and watched as Bobby delivered a plate full of waffles and avoided making eye contact with anyone.  
  
“How was the doctor’s visit?” Sam looked everywhere, the waffles that didn’t hold any interest for him and the tree line out of the window. Everywhere but at Dean and Ophelia’s faces.  
  
“Tests. Results in a week.” She missed the ashtray completely when she tapped at her cigarette and then gestured with her left hand. “Or whenever. No rush."

Sam watched Dean wipe up the ashes silently, and when she went to put the cigarette out on the table he led her hand without a word to the right spot. She nodded once in his direction and then pushed herself up to make her way out of the kitchen and away from them. Sam let her leave.  
  
Dean piled a plate high with waffles, and then fixed a smaller one and pushed it in front of Sam. “Gotta eat little brother. Get back the energy you spent last night.” Dean winked at him, it was hideous, and then began to devour his own waffles. Sam watched Bobby stare at Dean for a minute in horror before he left the kitchen too. It was just the two of them, and Sam pushed once at the waffles in front of him before giving up.  
  
“Dean I didn’t-“  
  
“You wanted to see if I would be jealous.” Dean’s voice wasn’t jovial anymore, wasn’t the light-hearted ‘atta-boy’ tone he’d had so far. Green eyes remained fixed on the plate in front of him.  
  
“Dean I shouldn’t have-“  
  
“Why not Sam? You’re young, single, it only makes sense that you spread your wild oats.” Dean swallowed a mouthful of waffle, and this time the lusty grin was a terrible parody, hideous and fake beyond all belief. “Hope you wrapped it up though Sammy. Gotta be safe right?”  
  
“Stop. _Oh god please stop._ ” Sam felt like he was shaking apart, like one more word would tumble him into little pieces on the floor, and the look on Dean’s face just got worse with every second. He reached out, pulled back before he could touch Dean, and then got up and staggered out of the kitchen door. Seconds after his feet hit the porch Sam started to run, bare feet flying across the freezing cold stone as his legs moved to outdistance his brain.  
  
He hit the tree-line and kept going, feet pounding out across the frozen ground as his heart raced and his arms pushed him onwards. Deeper into the woods, further, and Sam realized as something heavy grabbed him from behind that he’d been hitting branches the whole way and hadn’t noticed. He felt the warm trickle of blood where one had scratched his face even as he started to blindly struggle against the fire that was enveloping him.  
  
“ _Goddamn it Sam._ ” Lips traveled up the back of his neck, tasted his shoulder and then fingers were fumbling for the waistband of Sam’s sweats even as he gave up the fight and grabbed the wrists to try to stop them.  
  
“Dirty. I’m dirty Dean. I’m sorry. Sorry.” He couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop shaking as those hands pulled his pants down, as Dean explored the flesh of his ass and up his lower back. Dean’s heat threatening to burn him out, to destroy him, and Sam really hoped that maybe this time it would.  
  
He felt slick fingers at his entrance, a hand griping tightly at his hip when two fingers breached him, and the familiar burn. Dean’s lips traced his spine, tasted the dip above his ass, and then the voice he’d fallen in love with, rough and lust-filled, came over the sound of his sobs. “If you are I am too. Shut up Sammy. I can’t listen to you right now.” The fingers spread, he feels wetness and then a third, and the prep work goes so fast Sam can barely follow it before he’s being pushed to his knees.  
  
Dean entered him swiftly, there was pain because honestly spit was not enough lubrication, and then Dean fell still and they stayed right there, Sam’s knees pushed into the leaves and the cold dirt and his hands scrabbling for purchase as his arms shook.  
  
“You-“ Dean pulled back and thrust, and Sam bit his lip to keep from crying out at the mixture of pain and pleasure. “You’re killing me. You’re fucking killing me Sam.” Dean’s movements became steady, hard and deep, and Sam couldn’t stop the whimpers falling from his mouth, the low keen when Dean’s hand gripped his length and started to move rough and strong around him.  
  
They stayed like that, rhythm picking up and breaths panting through cold air until Sam hit his orgasm, so sudden and unexpected he was lightheaded and then Dean came inside him and Sam was left gasping as Dean collapsed against his back.  
  
“Sammy, Sammy, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t-I can’t stop. I can’t.” The lips pressed against him, and Sam felt Dean shaking, felt a wetness that wasn’t saliva, but when he tried to pull away and turn hands gripped him in place so hard it hurt.  
  
“Dean.” The word fell from his mouth, a plea for understanding, and Dean seemed to get it. The bruising grip became gentle, stroking and moving, and Dean pressed his face between Sam’s shoulder blades and shuddered before he spoke again.  
  
“Mine. Be mine. Be my brother, my lover, whatever _just be mine_. I can’t share you like that again. So fuck you Sam, it worked, and don’t do it again ok?” Dean’s voice was deadly hard, should have been scary, but the message left Sam soaring. Flying. He pulled forward and turned awkwardly, hissing at the pain of withdrawal before collapsing backwards onto the ground and pulling Dean’s furnace heat with him. They stayed that way for a long time, wrapped in leaves and twigs and holding onto each other.  
  
Breaking apart together.  
  
  
  
\------  
  
  
  
  
Dean stared at Sam’s scratched cheek, the flush still evident in the tan skin and the sparkle in hazel eyes. Had he missed how sad Sam looked since he came back? How broken down and heavy his brother had been? It was all gone now and if Dean missed it then he saw it now in comparison. His own weight and depression had been too much, and now looking at Sam he could see the change. He watched the way Sam seared chicken and hummed softly to a tune Dean didn’t know. When Bobby came through the archway the humming stopped but Sam kept moving with that lightness Dean hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.  
  
They were going to hell together and Dean couldn’t seem to make himself care. His list of sins had always been fairly extensive, and now it was just a little longer.  
  
Bobby sat across from him and adjusted his cap. “You’re gonna need to be more vigilant idjit. I found a broken salt line this morning at the basement door and drag marks through the devil's trap. Maybe make those paint instead of chalk like the ones up here.”  
  
Dean’s familiar with the tone, Bobby slightly hungover and pre-coffee. He already knows Sam broke the line, can picture his brother staggering drunkenly through it with the blonde tramp, but he lets it go and nods. Takes the lecture this time to avoid awkwardness. He doesn’t want to remind Sam about the night before because Dean doesn’t want to be reminded. He’d laid in bed for hours before sleeping, going over every conversation, every angle, and weighing all of it before he reached his conclusion.  
  
If he got up in the morning and Sam was happy looking, still with the girl, any of the things Dean least wanted to see he would smile and nod and take off. Come back when he could look at his little brother and only see his _little brother_. On the other hand if he came out and found Sam worse than he was before, and Dean thought he would, that would be the end of it. He had been struggling for so long, hanging on the fence of what he wanted to do, and that would be the deciding factor. Because Dean’s hang-ups could not push Sam into self-destructive behavior. Dean wouldn’t allow it.  
  
There was really only so much damage he was willing to cause, and ruining Sam was just too much. Bobby drank his coffee and watched Dean speculatively. They were building to a conversation, Dean knew it, and he was willing to hold out and let Bobby start it.  
  
At the moment Dean was just too relieved at Sam’s smile to care about anything else.  
  
  
  
  
  
\------  
  
  
  
  
  
“I gotta get back home son. Am I sending the Impala here or there?”  
  
“Here,” Dean’s voice is relaxed, calm, “so I can stay with my brother.”  
  
Sam turns quickly, focusing on the chicken in the pan even as he bites back tears. Bobby grunts once and then the chair is squeaking and sliding back under his weight. “Alright boy, sounds good. I'll be taking Caleb with me. Take care of yourself.” Dean makes a sound of agreement, and then Sam jumps a little when he hears Bobby’s voice come again much closer to him this time. “You too Sam.”  
  
Sam nods once, makes a strangled sound, and then Bobby is gone with just a pat to his shoulder. There’s silence in the kitchen for a long time. Then Ope sticks her head in the door and gets their attention. "Hey guys, Bobby is giving me a ride to Augusta."  
  
Sam stared at her for a long minute, glanced to see Dean’s confusion, and then looked back to see the doorway empty. He left the kitchen, Dean trailing behind him, and found Ophelia tapping along stacks of clothing in her dresser drawers and reciting the color order Sam had set up. She pulled out a blue thermal and dropped it in the bag beside her.  
  
“What the hell is going on?” Sam wants it to sound concerned or demanding but it comes out amused.  
  
She didn’t turn her head, didn’t even bother with the pretense as her smile turned wily and she pulled out another shirt. “Bobby needed to leave. I needed to go to Augusta. Didn’t he tell you?”

“He told me part of it. This is weird timing Ophelia. Your seizures are-“

“Bobby knows all the precautions as well as you do. I'm going to meet with some Braille teacher he found. You and Dean are going to have a few days alone to not spend time with wet hair and bare feet in the cold outdoors.” Her smug grin overtook the bottom half of her face. “Win-win for everybody involved. So you guys have fun.” She crouched and felt around until she found the zipper on her bag and closed it.  
  
Sam felt his mouth working like a fish out of water, and Dean took over. "Ope, how did you-“  
  
“Bobby saw you. He said you’re getting that old junker of yours shipped here to fix it up. Where are you storing it?” She had the bag closed and she stood and shouldered it.  
  
“One, not a junker. A classic. Two, gonna find a local shop that’ll let me- _Bobby saw us_?” Dean’s face looked horrified and Sam wasn’t sure if he should be worried Dean was going to rescind his earlier statements or laugh at the expression.  
  
“We’re both happy about it. Get it sent here. Sam knows where the keys are, and you know where the workshop is. Just use that. All Jeff's tools are still there.”  
  
Dean’s throat worked and Sam watched something strange cross his face. “Ope-you don’t have to-“  
  
She stepped forward, fingers reaching blindly and finding Dean, grasping his arms as she held on tightly. “You’re part of my family now too Dean. You’re welcome to anything you find there, and to stay as long as you like. Glad you pulled your head out of your ass.”  
  
Bobby stuck his head in the door and called her name, and without anything else said she slipped out of the door and through the house on Bobby's heels.


	19. Chapter 19

Dean’s left standing behind Sam in her wake, listening to the door close and Bobby's car start before they’re gone and he’s left alone with his brother. His lover. _Fuck_. Now what is he supposed to do?

  
Chasing after Sam wasn’t a plan of action, it wasn’t something Dean had really been able to help at the time, and what happened in the woods wasn’t something he’d been planning either. If he was going to go after this…relationship or whatever the fuck it was then Dean had planned on slowly making his way through it. Deciding as it went along whether or not it would have a sexual aspect. Chasing Sam had been the result of something primal and feral taking over, and suddenly Dean could only think of the image he’d had last night of Sam wrapped around that little blonde that came to see him one day. Dean couldn’t take it, couldn’t swallow it down, and instead he’d marked his territory and held on.  
  
It occurred to him that Sam hadn’t necessarily agreed to Dean’s terms, hadn’t acknowledged any of it other than not screaming at Dean or running away again. It’s probably necessary for them to talk about it, to hash it out, but Dean is fucking tired of talking about his feelings. He’d like to go a day where it doesn’t feel like his heart is playing the role of a punching bag, where he isn’t required to air out his insides for other people’s benefit.  
  
So instead of bringing up the woods, or the girl, or any of the things they really need to get straight Dean puts one hand on Sam’s shoulder and pitches his voice friendly and carefree. “Want to go to that Italian place Sammy?”  
  
Sam jerks once, surprise and maybe alarm, and then meets Dean’s gaze and gives him a look like he’s gone crazy. “We just had spaghetti and meatballs the other day.”  
  
“That’s sorta close-minded Sam. There’s more to Italian food than spaghetti and meatballs.”  
  
Sam’s face works through a cavalcade of emotions before it breaks into laughter, and when Dean sees the dimples something that’s been knotted inside of him since the morning he found out Sam was his brother lets go. “You’re a jerk.”  
  
“And you’re a bitch, but _I’m_ above name-calling. Let’s get dressed and roll out.” He releases Sam’s shoulder and digs through his duffel for a change of clothes. When Sam has left the room he drops the smile and considers, for what is definitely not the first time, how he’s going to handle all of this. If his father knew…but his father is dead. Salted and burned in the hunter fashion, and Dean and Sam are the last two Winchesters on earth. It’s odd that he finds the journal while he’s thinking about his dad. Settled down in the bottom of the bag, tucked beneath a pair of jeans and with one sock worked under the cover the leather stares at him accusingly.  
  
He drops the journal on the floor beside his bag and takes the clothes he wants. There’s a flash of guilt mixed in with his shock, and then he pushes it down. It’s John Winchester that took Sam from him. John Winchester that gave him Sam in the first place and then stole him. Sam was right, the time they should have spent bonding as brothers is lost forever, and what they have now is the best they can do. His father did that to them, abandoned Sam, and it contradicted every lesson Dean was ever taught about the importance of family and blood.  
  
Dean will keep Sam on the straight and narrow not because it was his father’s last order but because it’s his job. Has been since he was four, hell since he was _born_ , and always will be. But the last part of that order, the part about executing Sam, well that part can fuck off because Dean won’t do it. Can’t do it really.  
  
And does it really matter if he can or can’t? Sam has had more than a taste of Hell, and the possibility that his brother would get into bed with a demon after all of that is so slim it’s laughable. This thought, idly passing as Dean pulls on jeans, will be one that haunts him later more than any other moment in his life.  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam can’t stop laughing. It’s part relief, part hysteria, but mostly Dean. The guy is a bottomless pit, finishes off an entire calzone and then eats a large portion of Sam’s lasagna. He tops it off with two cannolis and then leans back in his seat and burps like a Viking warrior complimenting the meal. There’s sauce on his chin, a sated look in his green eyes, and Sam loves him more in that moment than he ever has before.  
  
It’s so natural to fall back into their early pattern that Sam can barely handle it. They go back to the house and watch a horror movie, and Dean laughs through half of it. His lecture to Sam about the difference between Hollywood vampires and real vampires is informative and shocking. He’s so blasé about the whole thing, hands gesturing casually as he discusses mouths full of fangs and beheadings. It should be frightening really, disconcerting, but he finds his eyes following calloused fingers with fascination.  
  
They sleep in separate beds, Sam not even suggesting differently, and when he wakes in the morning he’s greeted by mossy green eyes staring at him. He clears his throat once and then rubs at his face. “Little creepy there don’t you think man?”  
  
“You drool.” Dean’s grin is lopsided and warm. “A lot.”  
  
“Yeah well you snore. Makes us even.” Sam pushes his way up and Dean’s hand lands heavy on his shoulder, the ever-present heat searing his skin. Sam waits for Dean to speak, and when he doesn’t Sam breaks the ice himself. “Dean?”  
  
“I won’t stop hunting.” Dean’s face is a weird mixture of apologetic and fierce, and Sam has to fight to get his head around the words.  
  
“Did I ask you too?”  
  
Dean shakes his head once, swallows, and then keeps Sam’s eyes. “I would like it if-I mean if you thought-“ The words stop abruptly and Dean’s rubbing his hair, a nervous gesture Sam knows now, and looking away.  
  
“You wanted to know if I’d come with you?” Sam tries to keep the tone gentle because this is going to either be an argument or a bonding moment depending on his response.  
  
“Yeah. It’s a stupid idea though.” Dean’s shaking his head, withdrawing, and Sam grabs at his wrist before he can get away.  
  
“No. If the hunt is close I could go. I could help research or whatever. I just can’t go too far. I can’t leave Ope alone like that.” Dean’s eyes are wide, and he looks at Sam’s hand for a long time before he speaks.  
  
“I’d need to train you. Like dad trained me.” His voice is odd, thick, and Sam knows what Dean’s thinking of now. His lost father and his lost chance to do this with Sam when he was still young and should have been learning.  
  
Sam pulls once, hard, and Dean falls forward into the bed with him. They’re kissing before Dean can get himself situated, and when Sam pulls back he gets to see Dean’s face relaxed and open, lashes down swept and lips parted.  
  
“I’m a quick learner.” Dean’s smile is everything, and Sam’s glad to see it, even happier to taste it.  
  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
They start training that day, and Sam’s amazed at how different Dean is when he’s in teacher mode. There’s no trace of the lover there, it’s all commanding big brother, and Sam’s strangely glad for that. He spends hours getting thrown, leg swept, pinned. He spars the best he can but Dean’s amazingly fast, flexible, and graceful. Sam’s height and weight advantage amount to nothing in the face of Dean’s superior training and ability. By the time they’re done he’s sweaty, exhausted, and fully alive.  
  
He was worried it would get sexual, lot of physical contact in sparring, but there was never a moment when it crossed the line. They eat lunch in the kitchen, panting still and flushed with the exertion, and Dean lets Sam take first shower before he heads into the bathroom without a word. Sam has time to ponder the differences between Dean’s two faces, and what it would take to make him so hardened and jaded.  
  
What must a life of transience and violence be like? Sam only knows one side of it, the victim side, and it’s good to be learning how to go the other way. To be the fist instead of the flesh. It’s different than what he did with Brady, lacks the cruelty of it, and Sam’s honestly excited about the prospect of being the _hero_ for once.  
  
They watch a basketball game, and Dean roots for the Bulls even as Sam’s shouting for the Celtics. When his team loses Dean taunts him mercilessly, and Sam takes it grumbling half-heartedly to hide his joy. When his phone beeps he opens it to see a text message from Ruby. Dean glances his way, catches sight of the name attached to _“Hang out tonight?”_ and the smile on his lips dies.  
  
Sam types back, quickly and fiercely, _“Can’t. We gotta talk.”_ and then catches Dean’s eyes.  
  
“I’m going to tell her it was a mistake.” Dean doesn’t meet his eyes, drinks his beer and leans back into the couch flipping channels.  
  
“Do what you want to Sam.”  
  
Sam doesn’t miss the tone, the defeat and anger, and he almost laughs. “Dean.” When Dean doesn’t turn his way he grabs the angular jaw and turns it ‘til green gazes back at him. “Dean. I’ve been fighting you for this. I’m not going to throw it away for some girl I barely know. I just can’t tell her through a text message that I’m involved with someone.”  
  
Dean nods once, sharp and hard, but his eyes have softened a bit. Sam takes the chance to kiss him, and it’s hesitant at first and then slides into passion.  
  
They take it back to Sam’s bedroom, and the slick of skin on skin is incredible. Sam lets Dean burn his way through him, holds onto hard muscles, and tastes sweat and lust every time his lips meet Dean’s skin. It’s better than he remembered, slower and softer, and Sam likes it this way just as much as the fast and hard version.  
  
They fall asleep there, Sam’s leg crossed over Dean’s and his head turned so his face is buried in Dean’s bicep. It’s worth every moment of anguish it took to get there.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam wakes up to the sound of an argument in the kitchen, and he’s up seconds after Dean, pulling on his pants and stumbling through the door of his room to get to the source of the raised voices.  
  
Ophelia’s got a finger buried in Alan's chest as she shouts at him, and Sam stops in the doorway with Dean behind him. “-ask for your fucking opinion!”  
  
“This is ridiculous. You want me to drive you all over the place but then keep my mouth shut when you go out of-”  
  
“I asked Hannah for a ride not you asshole! You just butted your way in like always!”  
  
Sam watches Alan rear back, eyes wide at the tone of her voice, and then he settles for going back to angry instead of apologetic. “We’ve discussed this before Ophelia. A hundred times. You're so damn blinded by maternal instinct or whatever you can't see what you're doing to yourself! He's a fucking stray and you're blind now! _Literally_!”  
  
Sam hears Dean’s indrawn breath, feels his own fists clench, but Ophelia is the one who takes action. “Oh yeah, I’m sorry, I forgot. My having something more important than fucking you meant you needed to fuck my best friend. It was so logical the first time why not make it the basis for every fucking argument afterwards.” Her voice is venomous, thick and hateful as her finger leaves his chest and she steps back.  
  
Alan's face falls, anger leaving as quickly as it came and Sam knows what comes next, has seen this argument happen more than once. “Ophelia. Ope. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just-“  
  
She shakes her head and points in the general direction of the door. “Get out before I figure out where your fucking face is.”  
  
Ope pushes past him and runs face first into Sam. Before she can stumble or apologize Sam grabs her up, turns to hand her to Dean, and then grabs Alan by the shoulder and leads him outside, pushing him along the porch and down the steps.  
  
“That's why you cheated?” He’s amazed at how level his own voice is, how calm he sounds.  
  
“I-fuck-Sam I just-“  
  
"You need to leave before I kick your ass."  
  
"This isn't-" He doesn’t finish, waves one hand and walks away. The sound of his truck rumbling to life and pulling out is his goodbye.  
  
When Sam gets back into the kitchen Ophelia is standing with her head down and her hands clenched as Dean stares at her. She manages to bite out, “Sorry guys.”  
  
“For what?” Dean sounds honestly perplexed and her head comes up at that.  
  
“I wanted you to have more time alone.”  
  
“Well,” Dean looks at Sam for half a second before returning his eyes to her, “You are sort of blind. So as long as we’re really quiet it’s not-“ He doesn’t get to finish because Sam slaps a hand over his mouth, whole body rigid with shock and horror.  
  
Ophelia’s laughter breaks the silence, and when Sam turns she’s got her hands over her mouth as she continues to guffaw. When she finally gets her breath back her head is shaking. “You’re fucking disgusting.” It’s said in amusement, tenderness in every note of her tone as she smiles broadly.  
  
Sam removes his hand and Dean smiles back at her. “Yeah. Heard that one before.”  
  
She leaves without responding, trailing laughter behind her as she goes. When Dean turns back Sam kisses him, overwhelmed with gratitude and love. The sunlight shines through Dean’s short blonde hair, and for half a second Sam thinks cheesy thoughts and then closes his eyes and just tastes the man in front of him.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
Dean finds that he loves sparring with Sam. Loves _training_ Sam. It’s the kind of thing he always imagined doing with his brother, and the two of them work well together. Sam really is a quick learner, and by his third lesson he’s holding up against Dean so well it’s hard to remember he’s just started. Sam still can’t beat him, but he’s getting better with every day.  
  
His first trip with Sam to the gym Sam frequents is an eye-opening experience. He hasn’t been thinking of Sam sexually while they spar, too focused on making sure Sam is learning without getting injured. Standing in the same room as Sam lifts weights though Dean learns something about himself. The imaginary line in his head between Sam as brother and Sam as lover is quite thin, and the play of muscles across Sam’s back and arms when he does a rep leaves Dean drooling and admiring. Ophelia has turned out to be more than a little right, they can compromise and be both.  
  
He takes Sam in the showers, curtain pulled around their wedge of the pie-shaped shower heads, but both feet exposed under the metal. Sam’s nervousness about it only spurs Dean on, and he keeps one reluctant hand over Sam’s plush mouth to stifle the noises as he divides his attention between what he’s doing and anyone else who may be coming in.  
  
The Impala gets delivered and Dean has them back it into the workshop. He's only spent time in the ritual space upstairs before, and Dean marvels at the collection of tools for a little while before he gets started. Her uncle was thorough and orderly, and he makes sure to be careful with all of it because his father trained him that way. Sam wanders in and out as Dean gets started, watching him through strangely hooded eyes and occasionally retrieving a tool Dean requests. Sometimes Sam just sits in the same room, listening to whatever Dean is playing on the stereo and reading a book. It’s more time that goes in the brother category, and Dean finds he loves it almost as much as sparring, almost or as much as fucking.  
  
When the call comes in from Ophelia’s doctor Dean insists he’ll take her. His decision is influenced heavily by the fact that he knows Sam is going to have the blonde girl stop by so he can give her the brush off. Dean doesn’t want to be there for that, doesn’t want to see her, so he packs Ope up in the Jeep and rides off.  
  
She talks the whole time, voice nervous and hands moving constantly to punctuate sentences and underline phrases. If asked later Dean doubts she’ll remember a thing she’s saying, so he takes it in stride. When they reach the doctor’s office the look the receptionist gives them puts Dean on edge. The woman’s tone does the same for Ophelia.  
  
The doctor is no better, tense and nervous as he tells them there’s no sign of tumor, no sign of anything really, other than an anomaly on the MRI. He wants to give her another one, keep her in the hospital for observation while they run a battery of tests they haven’t done yet. Dean catches a glimpse of the MRI scan and sees the shape on her brain. Stares at it for a long time while she argues about whether or not she’ll let herself be admitted.  
  
She ends up winning the argument, and Dean shares a long stare with the doctor after she’s found her way out of the room. “Mr. Tyler your friend’s results…she needs to be admitted. She needs to be studied.”  
  
Dean isn’t sure if he agrees or not. The scan unsettles him badly, and he points to it and clears his throat. “What part of the brain is that?”  
  
“Her occipital lobe, the part that controls sight. I’ve never seen…it’s strange really. Does it look like a-?”  
  
Dean stares at it a little longer and then turns back to take in the doctor’s pale face. “No.” He steps out into the hallway and leads her away from the physical copy of the image burned into his eyes.  
  
The ride back is spent in silence until they reach the halfway point and her voice breaks over the music. “What was it?”  
  
“There’s a-uh-a handprint on your brain. Lobe for your sight.”  
  
She nods once, as if she expected that, and then lights a cigarette. “Ok. Ok that’s fucking _creepy_. You think Sam is done with the slut?”  
  
Dean has to bite back anger at the thought, and he grips the wheel tighter when he answers. “He better be.”  
  
Her grin is hesitant, only half there, and Dean takes it in with one sweep of his eyes before looking back to their destination. He keeps glancing at her though, making sure she’s ok and that’s why he sees the change. The minute they turn into the driveway her hand starts that odd tremor. Her jaw starts to work, mouth moving, and Dean stops the car and turns off the radio.  
  
“Ope. Ope what’s happening to you?” Something about these episodes has started to bother him, something he can’t put a finger on.  
  
“I don’t-“ Her hands clench on her own thighs and he watches the trails of thick tears that leak out from under her glasses.  
  
“What do you smell Ope?” It’s been the one constant. The one thing she’s always said.  
  
“Matches-sulfur-terrible-“Her head bounces back against the headrest and he hits the gas, flying down the driveway as she begins to seize in earnest. He makes it to the end and sees the girl’s car, everything clicking into place at once.  
  
It’s not the best thing he can do, certainly not the kindest, but he lifts Ophelia’s thrashing form out of the car and lays her on the grass before racing up the stairs. Because she’s great, really, Dean likes her a lot, but _Sam_. Sam is up there and if Dean’s right then there’s trouble. Bad trouble.  
  
He rounded the corner of the porch and saw Sam talking to the blonde, face relaxed and easy as his brother pushed hair out of his eyes and lifted them to find Dean.  
  
“Ruby this is-“ Sam’s voice died mid-sentence and Dean had time to see his brother's eyes widen, see the confusion dawn, before the girl was turning to Dean and tensing.  
  
Dean moved, instinct taking over, and the flask was in his hand and open before he got within range, one hand flinging holy water even as he shouted, “ _Christo_.”  
  
He saw the flash of black, the flinch, and then Ruby was grabbing her face and howling as the holy water hit. _Sam_ Dean’s head was screaming as he pushed the blonde forward, breaking the salt line with one foot and manhandling the demon through the door. She landed one vicious blow and Dean was thrown backwards into the table. Air left his lungs at the pain, and then he was up and throwing more holy water even as he saw Sam stumbling through the door and calling his name. He thought of Bobby casually mentioning the broken trap and salt line. Of mentioning the painted traps up here.  
  
Dean kept pushing until the demon threw him again, and then Sam was there and apparently reading his mind because he slammed into the demon and grabbed her waist, pushing her the last few feet into the circle of the devil’s trap drawn on the ceiling. Dean saw Sam stumble back, and then Ruby was left in the circle, slamming against the invisible barrier as she screamed at them.  
  
“You think this will do anything? That this will stop us?”  
  
Dean felt strong hands on his elbows, lifting him up, and then he was being taken outside into the cold air. Hands searched his face, pressed lightly against his ribs and Dean sucked in a harsh breath when one suggested that it was probably broken and didn’t want to be touched. He could still hear the bitch inside even as he turned his eyes to look at Sam.  
  
His brother’s face was pale, hands trembling as he kept checking Dean over. Dean grabbed his hands, took a breath and then spoke. “Sam? Did she try to feed you anything? Give you anything?” He couldn’t stop thinking about Brady, how Brady slipped Sam his blood, but Sam was already shaking his head.  
  
“No. No I-she didn’t- _oh god_.” Sam pulled his hands free and covered his face. “She’s a _demon_. They found me. They found me _here_.”  
  
“Stop. Sam stop.” He was grabbing the bigger body, pulling it against himself and holding despite the groan from his rib. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you and I won’t let anything happen to you ok Sammy? Deep breaths man, deep breaths. You’re fine.”  
  
It took Sam a few minutes, but when he was finally under control he pulled back and looked around. “How did you know?”  
  
Dean half-grinned, ready to brag about how he’d put it all together, and then he remembered Ophelia. “Aw shit. Come on.” He pulled back from Sam, pressed one hand against his side to hold the rib steady and made his way around the porch again and down the hill. He found her on the ground where he left her, face pointed to the sky and hands covering her eyes. At some point she’d lost her sunglasses, and when Sam pulled her hands back Dean saw that she was biting her lip so hard there was blood. She needed a change of clothes again, and he averted his eyes as Sam lifted her easily and took her upstairs through the basement.  
  
He dug through his own bag, grabbing a pair of his sweats and one of his shirts before stepping back to the bathroom and opening the door. He can hear the bitch screaming in the kitchen, taunting them, and there’s a moment where he sees red even as he’s holding the clothes out to Sam. Ophelia’s eyes move back and forth through the room, her head tilted towards the living room as Sam opens the shower and starts the water running.  
  
Dean watched them both for a moment, and then stepped out and closed the door. He had work to do, and he needed the supplies to do it.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam waited until she was out of the shower, helped dry her off, and then maneuvered her into Dean’s clothes. She was weak, her hands fluttering as she tried to hold on. A million things ran through Sam’s head and he couldn’t focus on any of them very well. She’d had a seizure and Dean had left her on the grass. Dean had known Ruby was a demon, _Ruby was a demon_ , and Sam couldn’t figure out how. They had a demon in their kitchen.  
  
It was the culmination of Sam’s greatest fears, to bring that part of his life into this one, to lose everything he’d gained to the influence of black eyes and damnation. He didn’t realize Ophelia was talking to him until her hand grabbed painfully at his shoulder.  
  
“Sam, I know I’m not in a good state, but who the fuck is screaming in the kitchen?”  
  
He pulled her sunglasses up from the counter and slid them on. Chewed on his answer until he knew she was about to speak again and then pulled her into a tight hug. “I’m sorry Ope. This is-I-Ruby’s a demon.”  
  
Her voice was muffled by his chest. “Why are we in here then?”  
  
He pulled back and looked at her, at the determination laced with exhaustion, and he almost refused. She needed to lie down, and he needed to talk to Dean, but she wouldn’t put up with that and he knew it. He let her grip his forearm tightly and walked her into the kitchen. Dean was laying out a line of items, and he looked up once and met Sam’s eyes before looking Ophelia over. The hunter mask was firmly in place. “I’ll be right back Sam. I have some stuff in the trunk that I need.”  
  
Sam pulled a kitchen chair back to the counter and settled Ophelia in it before standing beside her. Ruby looked them over.  
  
“Sammy. Don’t you think you should let me go before this gets worse?” Her smile was broad, helpful, and Sam felt nausea claw its way up his throat before he swallowed it down. He didn’t speak to her, kept his eyes moving around the cast of characters in the room to avoid getting bogged down in mind games. Brady had always been good at those.  
  
“Look around you Sam, haven’t you done enough damage already? Your pseudo-sister blind, your brother damning himself in you, and now they’re both marked for death. When Brady gets his hands on that little bitch-“  
  
“You talk too fucking much.” Ophelia’s hands rifled through the pockets of Dean’s sweats to find her cigarette pack and pull one out. She lit it and took a deep breath, reached up with her free hand, searched until she found Sam's hand and squeezed it tightly.  
  
“And you think entirely too little. You think you’re gonna walk away from this? Brady’s going to come back for Sam eventually, and when he does the things he’s gonna do to you.” She whistled once and then laughed. “Girl I’d hate to be you right now. You really shouldn’t have taken his toy. You're gonna wish that shifter I sent after you finished you off. It would have been a mercy.”  
  
Which made _that_ Sam's fault too. Ruby had sent that thing to kill her, to isolate him. Sam’s hand gripped at her shoulder, and she patted it once distractedly as she took a drag. “Keep gloating. I’m a big fan of irony.”  
  
“You’re also a big fan of pain apparently. Inviting the Winchesters in, selling your sight, what else have you given them? Do you join in their little incestuous hoedowns? I bet that’s hot, to get as dirty as they are-“  
  
 _“Exorcizo te, immundíssime spíritus, omnis incúrsio adversárii, omne phantasma, omnis légio-”_  
  
Ruby’s screams are terrible, a counterpoint to the sound of Ophelia’s bland and uninterested tone, and when Dean comes back through the door and stares open-mouthed at her Sam wonders what the hell is going even as he’s stepping back and away from Ophelia. She falls silent, and when she does Ruby stops screaming and launches herself at the wall of the trap.  
  
“You fucking cunt. _I’ll kill you_. I’ll let Brady fuck you half-dead and then I’ll rip you to shreds. Cut your fucking guts out and half eat them like your father did your mother. Would you like that?“  
  
 _“In nómine Dómini nostri Jesu Christi eradicáre, et effugáre ab hoc plásmate Dei.”_ The screams come again even as Ruby’s words get through to Sam. He doesn’t see surprise on Ophelia’s face, catches the look of understanding on Dean’s and considers lying down and dying right there. Everything. They know everything she's saying is true, and that means nothing will keep Ophelia safe. All the strength goes out of Sam's legs. Ruby's grin is weak when the screaming finally stops. Ophelia’s voice on the other hand, it could cut steel, and she’s leaning forward with both hands firmly on her thighs. “Sam. Can you put this cigarette out and head to the basement? Stay there for a bit while Dean and I take care of this.”  
  
As if he’s just realized he’s supposed to be doing something Dean moves forward, gets an ashtray and puts out Ophelia’s cigarette before crossing over to Sam. He drops his bag and touches Sam’s shoulder hesitantly. The green eyes are heavy, serious, and Dean’s voice stays low and intimate. “Sammy, you don’t need to watch this. You don’t have to stay.”  
  
Sam can’t stop his head from shaking, his hands from trembling, because there’s a whole new world of pain he’s been introduced to and he can’t leave them to this. It’s _his_ mess, _his_ problem, and for once he’s got to take care of it. “No. I need to-I have to be here.”  
  
Dean doesn’t argue and Ophelia’s head is nodding slowly even as she’s leaning back in the chair.  
  
“Ok bitch there's two ways this can go. Either one is gonna fucking suck for you, but one of them is much faster. Please, please, do me a favor and pick the slow one.” Ope looks vicious when she speaks. Bloodthirsty.  
  
Dean let go of Sam’s shoulder and picked up the bag he’d brought in, unzipped it and laid out more tools and a jug of water without speaking. He holds each one up for a second as if to inspect them, and Sam knows that the real purpose is to give Ruby a good eyeful of what’s in store for her.  
  
“If you think I’m afraid of Dean Winchester you’re dead wrong. After all, if he sends me back to Hell I can just take my aggression out on his daddy.”  
  
Sam watched the line in Dean’s shoulders change, the way his body froze solid, and then the dirty-blonde head rose and Dean’s voice came out in a growl so thick it was almost hard to understand. “What did you say?”  
  
“Aw, you didn’t figure it out yet? Where did you think your miracle came from Dean? Angels? _Papa Winchester made a deal_.”  
  
Sam wanted to move, wanted to grab at Dean before he did something stupid, but it turned out to be unnecessary. Dean stood and cracked his neck once before opening a jug of water and flinging some of it in Ruby’s face. The screaming started again.  
  
When Ruby stopped the silence in the room was deafening, and then Dean cleared his throat. “Alright, let’s start at the beginning. Why did Azazel give Sam his blood?”  
  
“Fuck you asshole I’m-“ Dean doused her with holy water again and the screaming started.  
  
Sam eventually went numb, the cycle of hurting Ruby and listening to her torrents of hate were too much. His brain shut down, gripping tightly to the possibility that he was having a vivid nightmare and any second now it would end and he would wake up. After all did he really remember waking up? Did he remember breakfast? He didn’t think so. If he couldn’t remember those things then they might not have happened, and that was his best bet.  
  
He had no idea how much time had passed before he felt a strong grip on his shoulder and looked up to see Dean staring down at him. “Sammy, you ok?”  
  
He turned his head to look at familiar fingers, calloused and strong, and nodded to try to assure both Dean and himself. He looked around Dean’s side to see Ruby on her knees, hands holding her up, and Ophelia crouched a little ways outside of the border of the Devil’s Trap. “What is Ophelia doing?”  
  
Dean looked over his shoulder and then back at Sam. “We’re gonna finish this. You should leave Sam.”  
  
“I’ve been to an exorcism before. Remember?” He doesn’t mean to sound angry or hurtful but he does. Dean’s smile is gentle and off-putting.  
  
“Yeah I do. That’s why I think you should step out Sammy.”  
  
Sam kept Dean’s gaze even as he spoke. “End it Ope.”  
  
“Fucking gladly. _Crucis Jesu Christi Dómini nostri: Qui cum Patre et eódem Spíritu Sancto vivit et regnat Deus, per ómnia sæcula sæculórum.”_  
  
There’s a flowing cloud of black that escapes Ruby’s mouth, Sam knows it all too well, and then the body falls and lays still as Ophelia pushes herself up. Her face, when she turns around, is so tightly locked down it looks like her skin has solidified and hardened. Sam wants to go to her, touch her, but he can’t make himself move. She crosses the room instead, hands out, and Dean takes her wrist and leads her hands to Sam.  
  
He watches as her face crumbles, her emotions completely out of whack, and she wraps herself around him as she cries. “Sam.” It’s the only word she gets out. Dean leaves them, Ruby’s corpse hanging over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and the two of them stay like that for an hour according to the wall clock before she speaks again.  
  
“We’re going to stop Sam. We’re going to stop blaming ourselves for what we can’t control. Starts here and now. Got me?”  
  
He hides his face in her hair and tries to remember what he’s supposed to say. He’s at fault here, knows it like he knows his name, and yet she’s trying to insist he give that up. He remembers the dreams of Ope and Dean being tortured. Tortured by him. They should have let Ruby take him.  
  
“Yeah Ope. I got it. I’ll try.” He kissed her scalp, inhaled her scent, and then heard Dean come back in.  
  
She needed help getting to bed, the strain of the seizure and the exorcism too much, and Sam helps her there. When she’s tucked in and sleeping he feels hands grab him and pull him up, out of her bedroom and into his.  
  
They don’t talk, don’t argue, they just touch at first and it starts innocent and moves far beyond that rapidly. Somehow Sam finds himself with his fingers stretching Dean open and his mouth on the pulse of Dean’s member. He’s pushing his way in before he realizes he’s crying, and while they’ve never subscribed to the meaningless porn conversations people so often share in bed Dean starts to talk.  
  
“Can’t lose you again Sammy-can’t-please-please-you have to-oh god Sam-“ His voice is broken, some concoction of reverence and fear and Sam finds himself grabbing Dean’s hips and thrusting harder, proving that he’s alive and there and well. He has to be strong. Guilt or no guilt he has to be strong because Sam has spent his time in Hell, has suffered and been broken, but now he has to take care of Dean. Take care of Ophelia. It’s time to be someone else, someone who can stand under pressure because what happened today can’t happen again.  
  
It’s time for Sam to fight.


	20. Chapter 20

When Dean wakes up Sam is gone, his side of the bed is cold, and the sun is shining in through the window. He runs into Ophelia coming out of the bathroom and fights the urge to hug her. She looks beaten down, broken apart, and the smile she pulls over it is dead and terrible. He goes into the bathroom instead, spends extra time shaving and showering before going into the kitchen. He expects to see Sam looking like Ope, possibly worse, and that’s why the smile that greets him when he enters is so unsettling.

  
Sam’s almost cheery as he serves them both breakfast, Ophelia’s wrinkled brow is kissed and Sam’s hand trails the back of Dean’s neck as he moves around dropping plates and pouring coffee. There’s a long silence, and then Dean breaks it. “Practicing for marriage Sammy?”  
  
His brother turns his head and smiles brightly. “You proposing?” It’s light, easy, and Dean wants to shake it off of him. He knows instinctively what Sam’s doing. Being strong for him and Ophelia, but being strong is Dean’s job. It’s Dean’s responsibility to hold Sam together and not the other way around. The sudden anger is overwhelming.  
  
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He sees out of the corner of his eye that Ophelia’s head has dropped, her fingers tapping a staccato beat on the table.  
  
“I think that question is better pointed at you. Am I not allowed to be in a good mood?” Sam’s hands are moving rapidly, restocking the cabinets from the dish rack and Dean finds his own clenching on the table.  
  
“Not after yesterday you’re not. We all know your story now Sam, you can give up the happy go lucky act.” Ophelia’s fingers are moving over the table more rapidly, and she starts shaking her head as their argument gets louder.  
  
“Jesus Dean, _sorry_ , I’ll mope around so you can feel better about yourself. God knows I would hate to deny you your masculine superiority.”  
  
Hands slammed against the tabletop, and Ophelia was standing and staring towards the door. Dean watched her, practically vibrating with anger, and wondered if maybe he’d gone about this the wrong way.  
  
“If the two of you don’t fucking stop it I’m going to lose my shit. Sam, quit being cheery. We all want you miserable. Dean, stop worrying about Sam. Ignore his feelings completely. Hear how ridiculous you’re both being?” She took a deep breath and scrubbed her face with one hand, “We buried a corpse together boys, it’s time for unity right now. Got me?”  
  
Dean stared at her, open-mouthed and unsure if he should be angry or amused. He settled for a middle ground. “Ope, I’m not-“  
  
“I swear to god if what is coming out of your mouth isn’t an apology to Sam followed by a loud round of kisses I’m going to find a blunt object and beat you with it.” Dean watched Sam come over to her and take her elbows softly, lead her back into the chair, and then all six ridiculous feet and change of him was kneeling in front of Dean.  
  
“Sam I’m-“ Sam shook his head and grabbed the sides of Dean’s face, big hands almost swallowing the flesh as he pulled him forward and kissed him. He let Sam take control, let Sam lead the pace, and when his little brother pulled back Dean licked his lips instinctively and let himself smile. “Yeah ok. _Unity_. Go Team Winchester.”  
  
Sam laughed once, breath puffing against Dean’s wet lips, and then he took a seat and made himself a plate of breakfast. Ophelia muttered around a mouth of food, “Or Team Burton.”  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam waits until they’ve all eaten to start asking questions.  
  
“So how did we know Ruby was a demon yesterday?” It’s still hard to swallow, hard to remember that he let her in the damn house, that he _touched_ her.  
  
Dean swallows hard while Ophelia lights a cigarette and taps her fingers against the table. “Ope kept saying the same thing during those seizures of hers. That she smelled sulfur, and that one time that something was watching us.”  
  
Sam has to think back to remember that one, and there was another message wasn’t there? He shakes that off when he hears how hesitant and soft her voice is. “I’m seizing as a warning against demon proximity?” A complicated series of thoughts flew across her face, until she settled on annoyed. “That’s not fucking helpful.”  
  
“Well it let us know that skanky bitch was a demon so there’s that.” Dean’s got this awkward look, half-apologetic and half-vicious. Sam’s amazed to see Ophelia nod at him once in commiseration.  
  
“No, no it’s not helpful. It’s _terrible_. If demons are after me then every time one gets close she’ll-“ Sam has to stop and take deep breaths, get a tight grip on himself. “Did we get any helpful information out of Ruby?”  
  
Dean’s face went dark and Ophelia took a deep drag. For a moment they both stayed silent, and then Dean cleared his throat. “We got that they still want you, and if the lack of cavalry is any indication she hadn’t tipped them that she found you yet. So there’s that.”  
  
“And we know Azazel had a boss.” Ophelia stubbed out her cigarette carefully and took another few bites of breakfast before she finished her thought. “The question is who? It’s not Brady so we’re kind of out of options there.”  
  
“So, to recap, we’re up against an unknown number of demons with a shadowy boss who want me for some purpose related to the demon blood they had me drink?” Sam took in Dean’s anger and Ophelia’s bleak look. He almost jumped when Dean’s hot hand settled on his arm.  
  
“Nobody’s gonna get you Sammy. Not while I’m around, ok?” Dean’s face is intense, focused, and Sam has to swallow hard at the sight of the love and fierce protectiveness shining out of those green eyes. “Nobody’s touching my brother.”  
  
Ophelia stood and pulled her hair back. “Let’s begin with the obvious. We need protection. We need concealment. I think I have something for both but should we ask Bobby?”  
  
“Maybe? But Bobby's probably already given you as much defensive knowledge as he's got.” Sam saw a light go on in Dean’s eyes. “But I have dad’s journal. There might be something in there.”  
  
Ophelia shrugged. “It’s a start. I can look into back-up ideas. In the meantime you keep training Sam and we make this place a fortress against evil.” She started to leave the kitchen and stopped in the archway. “Hey guys, it’s time to get those tattoos ok? Go see Tommy with the designs. They’re supposed to be able to stop possession.”  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
Ophelia described sigil after sigil, drew some of them sloppily when Dean asked for clarification and suggested books to show others. They spent the entire day carving them into trees around the property, placing them in the corner of doorways and under rugs. When every window and door had one beyond it Ophelia nodded seriously and then asked hesitantly if Dean would read his father’s journal aloud to her. The naked hunger on her face for what John Winchester would have to say about the supernatural world was obvious, and Dean agreed even though he was hesitant. He knew his father's reputation, but he didn't know what his dad would have to say.  
  
He and Sam went together to get the tattoos, and Tommy ended up playing the Beatles the entire time and mocking Dean’s hesitation while he lamented Ope's "accident". Dean liked him enormously. Sam stared openly the entire time, and when the process was over and they’d left the shop Dean asked him what exactly he was staring at.  
  
“I’ve never seen such an interesting collection of freckles.” Dean thought about that, considered his possible responses, and settled for mockery.  
  
“Why Samantha, I’m pleased you like them. Maybe you can connect them later.” The humor in it died a quick death when he saw the hunger in Sam’s eyes.  
  
Time passed, and Dean watched it go. Sparring became increasingly difficult as Sam gained skill with it. Eventually he managed to knock Dean down and keep him down, which was the day Dean started working on Sam’s aim. His back couldn’t take many more poundings like that. Sam was eager to learn, eager to harness his own potential, and the child-like glee he applied to being able to live up to Dean’s expectations was so good to see it hurt.  
  
They fought, _a lot_ , but it was always resolved in a day or less. The more Sam’s skill improved the more willing he was to butt heads with Dean, to insist on what he wanted. Every argument was tempered by the warmth Dean felt at seeing that defiant spark in Sam’s eyes.  
  
His dad's journal had a wealth of information about hunts, but the cramped handwriting and the occasional impenetrable code made it slow going. Dean found a recounting of the night his mother died that had tears in his eyes and his hands trembling, but he had yet to find any information on Sam or what happened the night of the second fire.  
  
He worked on the Impala when he could, and watching her come back to life was cathartic for him in a way he hadn’t expected. It was the second most important thing his father had ever placed in his hands, and he was rebuilding it along with Sam. Gone was the hunched look, the fear and lack of self-esteem, slowly replaced by a sense of self-worth Dean was glad to see. Sam would join him sometimes while he worked on repairs, and Dean would share a beer with him and lecture him on which tools did what or how to properly care for her. As far as Dean was concerned Sam was the next successor to the Impala, and he’d need to know how to love her the right way.  
  
The day of Sam’s job interview Dean found Ophelia in the old barn with him, listening as he pounded out dents and sang along with Def Leppard. He took a break halfway through the day and palmed sweat off his brow when she held out a beer. The days were finally gaining some semblance of warmth, but Ophelia assured him it wasn’t going to last.  
  
He stood beside the workbench she’d gotten up on and stared at the Impala as they drank together. Eventually she broke the silence. “Hey Dean, I was talking to a professor I know at UMaine Farmington. Religious Studies guy. I’m hoping to pump him for information, but he’s kinda distracted right now.”  
  
He saw the bobber above him and took the bait anyway. “Distracted by what sweetheart?”  
  
She leaned back and tried looking casual, one hand gripping the beer bottle and the other sliding along the rough wood beneath her. He never missed how tactile she was after she’d lost her sight, figured she was seeing with her fingers. “Well apparently a fellow professor decided it would be a good idea to jump from a window. Well known man-slut, really big into fucking students for grades. Witness reports say he went in with a young girl dressed in white, but she never came out. The students are babbling about some kind of freaky legend.” She fought a grin and lost. “They think it was a vengeful ghost of a girl who committed suicide. Prof is so busy handling counseling and rumors he can’t really focus on the research I asked him for.”  
  
Dean considered it for a long time, sipping his beer and mapping out where he’d need to work next to get the Impala back in top shape. He could let her sit out one hunt though. Borrowing the Jeep wouldn’t be all bad. “I see. Is Sam ok with me leaving for a little while?”  
  
“Sam’s going too. He insisted. He already told the job people he had a prior engagement and needed the time off.” Her grin had turned so broad it looked a little insane, and Dean was half-tempted to goose her to make it go down.  
  
“Sam’s going too? So this means you’re going?” He watched the grin go a little wider and then fall back into a controllable size.  
  
“Oh fuck that. Small room with you two? Not a chance in hell. We scheduled a baby-sitter for me. You guys are going alone. Two brothers, on the road, fighting evil. It’s like a movie plot.”  
  
Dean thought about the long hours devoted to research, the horrors he’d seen over the years, the hunts that went bad. “Who the hell would want to watch that?”  
  
He accepted though, partially because he was eager to get back into the game, but mostly because Sam wanted to go with him. Sam wanted to hunt, and he’d mock Ophelia’s statement all he wanted but it was what he’d longed for his entire life. He and his brother on the road together, hunting evil, saving people. Granted, the parts that were slick and sweaty hadn’t been in his imaginings, but life wasn’t always what you expected it to be.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam stared at Lina for a long time before he turned back and gripped Ophelia’s arm. “Are you sure you’re ok with this? Dean can go alone you know, or you can come along.”  
  
Lina stuck her tongue out at him and wrapped an arm around Ope’s waist. “We’re good Sam. I can be responsible.”  
  
Ophelia raised one eyebrow in Lina's direction and then pulled away and held her arms out so Sam could hug her. He did, gripping extra tight and taking a deep breath of her familiar smell. “I’m going to be fine Sammy. Just fine. Now stop mother-henning and get going. I can feel Dean twitching from here.”  
  
Sam looked her over one last time and then turned to Lina and pointed a finger, watching the girl roll her eyes and then fake interest in his lecture. “Keep her out of the basement, those stairs are too steep. Make sure she eats regularly and at least one healthy meal a day. She needs to sleep some, and if she isn’t I’ll know Lina. Don’t ever leave her alone. Got me?”  
  
Ophelia looked a bit put-out, and Dean moved smoothly in between them and tapped Lina once on the shoulder before flashing his most charming smile. Sam didn’t miss the way Lina's knees seemed to wobble, or how she suddenly looked attentive. “We’d be real appreciative if you took good care of her sweetheart. Sammy’s just a little over-protective, but we know you’ll do a fine job.” He drawled the whole thing, accent ridiculously overblown, and Lina actually giggled when he was done.  
  
It was only the hilarity of Ophelia’s face struggling to control itself that kept Sam from hitting Dean or throwing out a biting insult. She hugged Sam once more and then reached out for Dean. They held onto each for a long minute, and then Dean let her go and winked once even though she couldn’t see it. “We’ll be back Ope.”  
  
“Yeah. Bring me a souvenir!”  
  
It was a struggle for Sam to leave her with spacey Lina. The girl Ope had fired because she couldn't keep a schedule or take a coherent phone message. The girl who had once insisted she thought the bulb she’d placed in her plant would refill itself. They made it all the way to the Jeep before he asked Dean if he was sure Ophelia shouldn’t come along.  
  
“Sam. Jesus man, you’re not the girl’s mother. She’ll be fine. Anyway, Lina seemed nice.”  
  
Sam leveled Dean with a gaze that went unnoticed as his brother backed out of the space. “She seemed nice, or her transparent shirt and huge breasts seemed nice Dean?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Little of Column A, little of Column B?”  
  
“You’re a jerk.” Sam turned his head away, and then tensed when Dean put a hand on his knee. The caress turned intimate in seconds, fingers trailing up his thigh and brushing along his hipbone.  
  
“I’m your jerk. Bitch.” Suddenly, being alone with Dean in a motel room for days didn’t seem like such a bad thing.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
He was never going on a hunt with Dean again. Something about the combination of being out of the house, of the cheap motel room, and the stress of questioning witnesses combined within Dean to make him the biggest dick on the planet. The swagger was bad enough, but when the pranks started Sam really thought he’d go insane. From the missing wallet to the porn sites locking up his computer Sam spent the moments he and Dean were alone fighting the urge to scream at his brother. Dean’s insistence that it was payback didn’t help.  
  
The stories though, that was the part Sam really couldn’t understand. Without his laptop he was left with calling Ophelia and asking her for information. He listened to the ringing for what seemed entirely too long and then she answered, voice foggy and half-there. _“Yes?”_  
  
Sam glanced over at the alarm clock to see it was two in morning. He and Dean had just gotten back from hearing the obnoxious jock’s tale of woe and aliens. His eyes traveled the room to see Dean sitting at a table, cleaning his ordinance and pointedly not looking at Sam. Apparently no matter how many times he told Dean he didn’t bleach Dean’s hair, Sam was still the only suspect. He didn’t think the bleached look was good on Dean either, but now wasn’t the best time to mention it.  
  
“Hey Ope. Were you sleeping?” He leaned back against the headboard and rubbed at his tired eyes. Lying to people was draining, having Dean openly ignore him was worse.  
  
 _“Yeah Sammy, little bit. What’s up?”_  
  
“We’ve hit a brick wall here. I was wondering if you could maybe help us out a little?”  
  
 _“Fire away Sam.”_ He heard the click of a lighter, the sound of her inhaling, and almost lectured her about smoking in the bed. Instead he carried the phone over to the rickety table Dean was at and hit speakerphone.  
  
“So it started with the ghost story, but it’s gotten a little complicated since then. We’ve had reports of an alien abduction, and then tonight a professor was eaten.”  
  
 _“Eaten by aliens or a ghost?”_  
  
Dean clicked the slide back onto his handgun and looked up at the phone. “Neither. An alligator. Sewer alligator.”  
  
There was silence for a long second and then Sam heard a choked sound that became laughter. _“Very funny guys."_ When neither of them laughed she attempted to sound serious. _"Sewer alligators? No way.”_  
  
“Well sweetheart there’s never been proof of aliens either, but there you go.” Dean put the gun down and began disassembling a rifle. “Maybe if we were focused we’d have a better story for yah.”  
  
Sam tried, _really tried_ , to hold it in. It didn’t work. “Oh yeah. Maybe if we acted like professionals instead of flirting with bar sluts and pulling pranks we could-“  
  
“Who dyed whose hair Sam? I look like a friggin’ Backstreet Boy.” Dean’s hands had clenched on the rifle, but before Sam could say anything back Ophelia cleared her throat.  
  
 _“Guys, hey, be civil. What the hell is going on with you two?”_  
  
“Sam is-“  
  
“Dean’s been-“  
  
They started and stopped at the same time, and Sam glared right back at Dean while he watched his brother’s jaw work. This was what it was like to have a real sibling, Sam knew it, and he wasn’t sure he liked it much.  
  
 _“Ok. We’re going to do this one at a time, no interruptions. Sam tell me everything, Dean you next. We’ll plan a course of action from there. No hitting.”_  
  
So Sam told his story, and damn if Dean didn’t interrupt him every five seconds. When he was done Dean told his version, making Sam out as some sort of touchy-feely basket case. Sam was pretty sure if he glared any harder his eyes would burn out.  
  
 _“You guys are fucking impossible. You’re being played.”_  
  
Dean locked eyes with him, and Sam watched the jaw unclench before bright green eyes swept down to the phone. “Played? Wanna be more specific?”  
  
 _“Trickster spirit, maybe a pooka but unlikely if people have really died. So Trickster. I’m sure your dad’s journal has something on how to kill it. It’s pitting you against each other so your investigation tanks, which probably means-“_  
  
Sam shook his head and groaned. “We already talked to it and got made. Damn it.”  
  
Dean’s eyes were averted to the window as he rubbed at his hair. “Well. That explains a lot.”  
  
 _“Hey did you say your hair got bleached? Can you describe-”_  
  
“Thanks for your help Ope. We’ll talk to you later.” Dean disconnected the call and stood, hands rubbing against his thighs as he looked around the room. When he spoke it sounded painful. “I’m sorry Sam. I should have believed you.”  
  
Well, that was unexpected. Dean’s face was averted enough Sam couldn’t see it, so he stood and took Dean’s shoulder to turn him around. The face was tight, tense, and he pulled Dean into a hug.  
  
“It’s cool man. I didn’t believe you either.” He released Dean fairly quickly, and stepped back. “I’ll go down to that Chinese place. Get us some food. Pepper steak right?”  
  
“Yeah. Pepper steak. Thanks.”  
  
Sam moved swiftly, giving Dean privacy with his thoughts.  
  
  
  
  
  
\------  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean had an expectation when he crossed the threshold of the house he was dangerously close to calling home. Namely, the kitchen should have two people in it, both female and both waiting on them. Sam had sent Lina a text message when they were half an hour away and the ditzy blonde had yet to respond. When he saw instead a strange car in the driveway, and Ophelia sitting at the table nodding as a serious looking man in a tan trench coat spoke and gestured to her he pulled his gun without hesitation.  
  
Behind him Sam let out a noise, and then Dean was using one arm to hold Sam back so he could be the first through the door. That answered the question of whether or not Sam knew him. If the guy was dangerous then Dean would be damned if his brother was the first one going in. They’d just killed the Trickster, it was supposed to be time to _celebrate_ damn it.  
  
He pushed the door open and pointed the gun at the intruder, the man’s eyes widening slightly as Ophelia’s head turned and she flashed a tired smile.  
  
“Dean? Sam? Is that you guys?”  
  
Dean kept the gun pointed as he responded to her. “You ok Ope?”  
  
Sam pushed past him into the kitchen and grabbed her up, pulling her back and against him. Dean’s eyes took in the entirety of the scene now that he was close enough to. The water glasses at both settings, Ophelia clad in pajamas and with wet hair, the man at the table with his hands in the air and no sign of aggression whatsoever. He clicked the safety back on and tucked his father’s .45 into the back of his pants even as Ophelia answered, voice strained and confused.  
  
“Guys? I’d like you to meet Dr. Jimmy Novak. Dr. Novak this is my brother Sam and his partner Dean.”  
  
Sam held onto her for another second before she gently pushed herself away. Dean took over, trying to minimize the damage. He held one hand out and Dr. Novak took it with only a hint of hesitation. “Sorry ‘bout that. Really. You can just never be too careful right?”  
  
Novak nodded once and then cleared his throat. “That is true. Caution is always best. I am sorry I frightened you.” The man’s voice was rough and gravelly, almost a growl despite the placid tone of it.  
  
Ophelia’s head was moving back and forth between their voices, and her eyebrows had risen above the top of her sunglasses. “Scared you? How did they-“ Dean saw the pieces fall into place.  
  
Sam didn’t give her a chance to pick her line of thought back up, big hand swallowing her elbow as he turned her to him and touched her wet hair. “Ophelia where the hell is Lina? We texted her that we’d be here soon.”  
  
A slight flush crossed Ophelia’s cheeks and Dean took in the way Novak watched her. “I believe I can answer that question. I met your sister in the antiquarian bookstore. She was alone and having a seizure. I gave her a ride home once the episode had finished.”  
  
Dean winced when Sam’s hands clenched reflexively, and then he watched his little brother lower her carefully into a chair and apologize for the squeeze. “Why were you alone Ope? Did you smell-did you have the usual warning signs?”  
  
She tilted her head and reached out to find Sam’s shoulder and pat it. “I didn’t smell anything this time. I don’t think I did anyway; it went supernova pretty damn quick. Lina met-she was gone. I told her I’d be fine.”  
  
Sam’s voice was laced with affection and concern. “Ophelia you’re not supposed to be alone. For good reason.” His eyes moved to Dr. Novak. “How long did it last?”  
  
“Three and a half minutes. She was very insistent I not take her to the hospital, although I should have. I brought her home instead so she could change clothes. Is Lina her usual caretaker?”  
  
“No. Lina is a bad friend who will never be watching Ope again.” Sam’s eyes cut back to her and then met Dean’s. The look said everything. Longest seizure yet, no warning sign, _what the fuck_?  
  
Dean took over with a confident grin and a leading hand on Novak’s shoulder. “We really appreciate you looking after her, but we’ve got it from here. Thanks again.” He nudged gently to suggest the man should leave and it took the doctor a second to understand the gesture. He stood and nodded once at Dean before turning to Ophelia.  
  
“You are a delightful young woman. I would like to see you again if at all possible. Can I leave you my contact information?”  
  
“That would be great. Just get Sam to write it down.” Ophelia smiled softly and held out a hand that Novak took and shook gently.  
  
When the doctor had left Sam sat next to her and Dean found her cigarettes and slid them into her hand. Sam was practically shaking with his rage, and Dean touched his shoulder once to remind him that he needed to control it in front of her. He dug through the fridge and grabbed her a soda before putting it next to the cigarettes. She gave him a small grin.  
  
“I know you’re angry Sammy, but I told Lina it'd be fine. She’s…well fuck dude you know. A little off.”  
  
“Yeah well I’m kinda angry about that too Ope. You weren’t ok, and it could have been worse. What if the demon that set you off got you? You’d be completely defenseless, and then what? I can’t lose you.” Sam’s voice, worried and sad, was painful to hear. The look on his face was worse and Ophelia reached for him and let him hug her again tightly before she responded.  
  
“Sammy I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful. Promise. Wherever it was, Jimmy got me out of there fast enough it didn’t matter.”  
  
Sam met his eyes over the top of her head and Dean took the next part, sliding down and putting a hand on her shoulder. “’Bout that Ope. I know he passed the wards, but letting a strange guy bring you home? Dangerous behavior sweetheart.”  
  
She frowned and fumbled with her cigarettes. He could see the exhaustion, she was usually asleep this soon after a seizure, and he wondered how hard she was pushing herself to stay awake while Novak was still there. It was at least one sign of a sense of self-preservation.  
  
“I didn’t have a lot of choices at that point and I needed to get the fuck out of there. He's a nice guy.” She paused for a moment and rubbed at her face. “Is there any chance he’s as hot as his voice is?”  
  
Dean couldn’t help himself, he burst into laughter despite Sam’s disapproving look. “Well he may sound like Batman but he looks like a Mormon. Blue eyes, dark hair, dressed kinda out-dated. Not a bad body though.” Sam’s glare leveled at him and he winked once to mitigate the damage.  
  
“Ophelia you can’t really be-“  
  
She cut Sam off abruptly with a sad smile. “Sam, it takes an idiot to pass up free healthcare. Plus, it's not like I have anybody tying me down.”  
  
Sam took in a deep breath and then nodded. “Ok. But someone goes on the first couple dates with you. I don’t trust him.”  
  
“Well that will help my chances of getting laid, chaperones. I feel like a real princess.” She made a face and then pushed herself up and left the kitchen waving a hand over her shoulder. “Going to pass out boys. Make up sex is your next step.”  
  
Dean had to bite the inside of his cheek and look away from Sam’s shock. Why anything she said shocked him anymore Dean couldn’t guess. There was silence for a long time and then he felt Sam’s hand on his knee. When he looked up the hazel eyes were dark and hooded. “We still have making up to do?”  
  
He could say no, because honestly he was fine with it. Once they’d staked the tricky fucker all of Dean’s tension and anger had died with it. So…the real answer was no, but if Sam was offering to be apologetic who was Dean to turn him down?  
  
“Yeah. I’d say there are some apologies left to be made.” He pulled Sam up, and then twisted Sam’s arm behind his back and leaned up into the younger man’s ear, pitching his voice low the way he knew Sam loved. “Maybe it’s time you got on your knees and said sorry.”  
  
He heard Sam’s helpless little moan, felt a surge of blood to his groin, and then led Sam down the hall and into his room. When he heard Led Zeppelin start up in Ophelia’s room he let himself smile, and then Sam was on his knees unbuckling Dean’s belt, unzipping his pants, and swallowing his thoughts whole.  
  
It was still as good as it had always been. If Dean had thought the word brother would make it uncomfortable, or give him a disgusting thrill, he’d been dead wrong. Instead the word simply became an extension of Sam’s name, an acceptable fact of reality that Dean could neither escape nor avoid. They didn’t have many titles here, first names and harsh curse words, pleas for more and wet sounds. Sam’s big hands could hold Dean down or pull him up, stretch him or grip him, tear him apart and put him back together.  
  
He had to pull Sam away after a short time, grip the base of his cock and focus or else it would be over too soon. They undressed like they always did, urgently and without grace, before he had Sam on top of him and moving smoothly flesh to flesh. Sam was the master of friction, knew every angle to make Dean moan, every twist of his hips was perfection. When he heard the lube bottle, felt Sam’s fingers at his entrance, he simply lifted his hips for access and moaned Sam’s name. It was a plea, it was a command, and Sam granted and obeyed.  
  
Fuck convention. Dean had never been conventional anyway. He gripped Sam’s broad shoulders, felt himself stretched open, and then Sam was inside and Dean was holding on for the ride. The bedside lamp showed hazel blown wide with black pupils, and Dean stared into the mass of colors as he listened to Sam beg him for more.  
  
Afterwards they simply stayed beside each other, fingers stroking one another without linking, and Dean took deep breaths and stared up at the ceiling. Sam was the first to speak, voice husky and thick. “Hey Dean?”  
  
“Yeah Sam?”  
  
“Can this really last?” It was a hopeless sound, small and childlike. For one moment Dean thought of a baby in his arms, of a blond woman insisting that he would be the best big brother any little boy could ever ask for, and then it was gone replaced by the cold air Ophelia had predicted and the sweat remaining after their love-making.  
  
“I’ll kill anything that tries to stop it.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is all Ope's POV. It was necessary I swear.

When it gets really bad, when the darkness is almost overwhelming, Ophelia reminds herself that she knew what things looked like once. She focuses, and when she does she can see again, albeit only through memories. Her hands long to climb, to feel stone and the rush of ascent, to look down at the world from above and see things the way birds see them. She’ll probably never have that again, but she’s always had a good memory and an eye for detail.

  
There’s still sound, touch, taste, and smell. She can enjoy all of that without needing sight. More importantly there’s Sam, and the sound of Sam happy is better than a thousand sunrises or a million mountaintops. She hears Sam happy more these days than she did when she could see him, so there’s fewer memories of the look that goes with the voice. She touches his mouth sometimes, gives in to the urge and feels his lips pulling and the little lines forming at the corner of his mouth. It’s her new favorite sensation. Dean’s eyes crinkle when he smiles widely, and that’s a good feeling too. She doesn’t touch Dean as much though, it’s harder to reach for him, but she’ll do it when he’s laughing that big stomach-clenching guffaw of his.  
  
There are days, few and far between, when she’s almost too scared to get out of the bed. They're at war with Hell, and now she’s stuck in it sightless. She assumed if anyone would see these moments coming it would be Sam, but it’s not. Sam’s belief in her strength is endearing but misplaced. It’s Dean who knows when these days come, and his voice is louder than normal, stays closer, and keeps bright and upbeat despite what’s happening around them. Real spring has come, and Dean often sits with her outside in the warm sun and talks about nothing for hours. He likes daytime programming, a thing she has yet to tell Sam, and he narrates what’s happening when the talking stops.  
  
She hasn’t had many bad episodes since the day she met Jimmy, and she’s glad because they’re the thing that scare her the most. It’s one thing to be blind, another entirely to be gripped by that horrible smell, that panic. The helpless feeling of her mouth moving without her, her eyes crying without her permission, and all of it is simply the foreplay to the big blowout most times. Coming back to herself, soiled and on the ground, weak and with her mind screaming is probably the hardest part of the transition. Still, she knows what she paid for, and it’s worth it.  
  
Bobby can lecture her all he wants, although she only hears from him sporadically, but at the end of the day she’d do it again if she was asked to. She understands Dean better than she can explain. From the moment she landed on Brady’s shoulders, or maybe the moment she heard Sam’s scream, she’s been responsible for him. It’s not something she asked for, but it’s not something she’d give up if she had the choice. Sam is hers the same way she is Sam’s, and that’s just the way it is.  
  
Dean and Sam have gone on their second and third hunts since the Trickster at UMaine at Farmington, and each one has gone a little better than the last. Sam strains against Dean’s protectiveness sometimes, complains that Dean is too reckless with his own health in favor of Sam’s, but she can only shake her head and smile at that. Sam is too important for both of them, and they know it, but Sam doesn’t. He’s becoming different, she can feel it and hear it. His muscle mass grows by the month, his voice is deeper and more assured, but most importantly his smell has changed. Has become a combination of the one she’s so long associated with him and that of Dean’s. She likes it.

The only hiccup at the moment is Gabriel. She doesn't want him to know about the blindness, so she's making sure she only talks to him on the phone or through instant messages. He keep suggesting he should visit, and she keeps refusing him. She can't tell if he's getting annoyed or exhausted with her, and honestly she doesn't want to find out.

They leave her with old customers, ones that Sam knows he can trust, and she finds herself in endless arguments about sports and politics. They avoid any potential discussion about her being unable to continue her work. Disability isn’t her idea of living. The cane Sam got her is helpful, but she still doesn’t go out alone. Eventually the two of them are going to have to leave her alone, trust in the protections they’ve laid down, but until that happens she’s just going to grin and bear it.

She gets plastered the night she reads her first three Braille sentences, and then she and Dean spend the night loudly singing seventies rock songs at Sam until he laughingly shouts at them to shut up.  
  
Jimmy has taken her on six dates, each one more formal and sincere than the last, and each one chaperoned by Sam or Dean. He’s a nice guy, awkward but sweet, and she doubts they’ll ever be anything more than friends. He touches her strangely, as if he’s unfamiliar with the concept, and they’ve never gotten past fingers brushing elbows or backs. His voice is nice, the strong lines of his face under her fingers feel attractive, but there’s no spark there. She doesn’t _hunger_ for him.  
  
What she does want she knows she can never have. It's too dangerous, too tricky, and she's worked so damn hard not to get attached to Gabriel. Good sex and sense of humor aside the guy is a wild card, and she can't handle wild cards right now. She needs to focus on what's right in front of her. There's always the possibility that the end is coming soon, and what's the point in making it more than it is?  
  
Time doesn’t heal wounds, but it blunts the edges enough that you can slip past them. Sam has set up a rope on a treadmill so she can run, one hand holding the knot to center herself, and it’s not perfect but it works. He’s been reading up on tricks to let her run outside with a guide, and they’re going to experiment with it when he gets the chance.  
  
Summer, what Maine has of it, is right around the corner. She can feel the change in the light, the way it’s harder on the skin of her face. Dean’s car is finally fixed, and she finds herself sitting on her uncle's old workbench smoking while Dean polishes the new paint job. She’s not sure if he knows that he murmurs to his girl, promises her he’ll be more careful, love her forever. It’s endearing and amusing all at the same time, and Ophelia never speaks during it. Soaks it in the way she soaks in the feeling of sunlight.  
  
Dean loves Sam, loves him more than living, and Ophelia’s _glad_ for it. So fiercely glad she can’t speak sometimes when she hears them talking, kissing, the rasp of their fingers brushing against each other when they think she’s not listening. There’s no sound on earth she likes more. At least she thinks that way, until she hears Gabe's voice from the doorway, bright and joyful.  
  
“Hey Dean. Hey Opey.”  
  
She swallows hard, takes a drag and composes her face. “Hey Gabe. What’s up?” _Flippant_. Be _flippant_. Wait for him to ask and then say something, but in the meantime give no other indication whatsoever. “You staying long? Sam’s making Chicken Parmesan tonight.”  
  
She hears Dean's confusion, hears him cross the dirt floor and slap his hand into Gabe's in a friendly gesture. They've come a long way.  
  
"Yeah I was gonna stay a couple nights. There a reason you're-"  
  
“That's great. It's fucking grand to see you.” She pushes herself off the workbench and counts the fourteen steps to the doorway before holding out a hand to him. He takes it, squeezes it once with his soft hands and then stops her forward momentum.  
  
"Opey what the hell happened to your eyes?"  
  
"Well-uh-" _Lie_. _Fucking lie Ophelia_. "Accident. Damnedest thing right? Hey I bet we got Moose Tracks." She pulls free before he can speak again.  
  
The trek up the hill and into the house is the hardest, open space is disconcerting these days, but she makes it alone and when she reaches the door of the house she’s not sure if she’s shedding tears of joy or misery.

  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam’s angry. She can almost smell it rolling off of him. “Why wouldn't you tell him the truth? You _like_ him. You need to give him a chance.”  
  
She nods, fingers trailing over Braille dots and trying to translate this new language into one of the ones she knows. It’s a hard skill to pick up. "Yes I can see that now. 'It's so good to see you. Hey, by the way, I summoned an Etruscan goddess and sold my sight, so now's obviously the time to take this past the casual hook-up stage. You know 'cause I'm crippled and all.'"  
  
“Ope. What about Jimmy?”  
  
That surprises her. Sam’s never expressed anything other than grudging thankfulness or distrust of Jimmy. “What about him?”  
  
“You gonna tell him Gabe's here? Or tell Gabe about him? Don’t you guys have a date tomorrow?” Sam’s voice edges between accusation and concern.  
  
“What am I supposed to tell either of them? ‘Jimmy my friend Gabe is here, ignore the fact he's been balls deep in me a few times. Gabe I’m sort of pretend dating this guy who won’t even kiss me, but I really want you to say I'm more than a good fuck.’ Let them take what they want from it Sam. I’m not interested in fighting anymore.” It’s only half true. A silly part of her wants Gabriel to be jealous, to storm and rage and throw things. She stomps on that part until it’s quiet.  
  
Sam stays silent for a long time, and then he’s right there with his big arms enfolding her. “You’re my first concern Ope. I just want you happy.”  
  
She reaches up to feel his face, the familiar lines of cheekbone and jaw, muscle and skin stretched tight over bone. Dean’s handsome, she can admit that easily, but no one’s ever been as stunning as her Sam. It’s the light in him, the undying, enduring light that she can still feel even if she can’t see it. She rubs a thumb over his cheek and speaks softly. “I’m fine Sam. Stop mothering.”  
  
He accepts that, takes it, and goes with her into the kitchen where he’s supposed to be finishing dinner. She takes her spot at the table and feels to make sure everything is in its place. She’s getting better at hearing Dean’s approach, but Gabe's still takes her by surprise. It’s not that he’s quieter than Dean, just that she’s listening for the wrong thing. They're discussing some obscure plot point from _Dr. Sexy MD_ , and she listens raptly to the way Gabriel's voice moves warm and smooth through the room.  
  
Sam serves and they all take their seats. She monitors the sounds of dinner and then decides Sam’s sort of right. “So I have that thing tomorrow with Jimmy. What are you boys going to do without me?”  
  
There’s a heavy feeling, a creak of a chair that she thinks is Gabe, and then his voice shatters the silence, easy and amused. “Who’s Jimmy?”  
  
Dean’s response is relaxed and calm. “Ope met a doctor. Nice guy but a little straight-laced. I think he’s a virgin.”  
  
She hears a choking sound, _Sam_ , and almost laughs at the noise of Dean pounding his back. When Sam has his breath back he manages to sound scandalized. “We don’t know that. Why would you assume that?”  
  
“He’s got that look about him. Me, I prefer experience, but I guess Ope is cherry-picking.” He manages to make it sound like the dirtiest thing that’s ever been said. It’s a skill Dean has that never fails to amuse her.  
  
Gabe on the other hand, doesn’t sound amused. “Who is this guy?”  
  
Dean takes over, and she knows instinctively that he gets what she's going for. "Oh, some strange guy that brought her home. Ope's a knockout after all."  
  
She pictures Dean's face then, pictures it smirking and brightly lit.  
  
Dinner finishes on a higher note, Dean telling Gabe about the Trickster. The story of the slow-dancing alien has everyone laughing by the time Dean’s done. Gabriel praises the thing's sense of humor. Afterwards she ends up on the porch with Dean, feet swinging over the cement and cigarette in hand as Dean tells her about the fireflies.  
  
“Just as good as you described it sweetheart.” Warmth, familiarity, comfort. His raspy voice makes her relax back into the wood slats.  
  
“Does Gabe look ok?” It’s not what she planned on asking, just what comes out.  
  
“He looks fine. Totally relaxed like always. You worried?”  
  
She’s always worried. Worried about Sam blaming himself, worried about Dean self-destructing, and worried about Gabriel being too flippant in a world full of danger and death. Worried about him getting tired of her after she's gotten attached. It may be too late for that though.  
  
“Nope. Tell me again about Sam’s haircut. More editorializing this time.”  
  
Dean’s laugh is thick with emotion. “It looks ridiculous. Longer and floppier, and he has to push it out of his face all the time. He’s one step away from slicking it back with grease and rolling a pack of cigarettes in his sleeve.”  
  
She smiles at that, and feels Dean’s hand brush her elbow once to tell her he’s glad she’s smiling. Dean is surprisingly adept at speaking silently without her missing the nuances.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----

 

Ope has to physically remove Gabriel's hand from her arm to let her leave, and he practically barks at Jimmy when Jimmy asks if they've met before. She's never heard the placid doctor sound so confused.  
  
Jimmy’s voice, ever factual and calm tells her what’s ahead as she walks along the trail with him. “So Gabe has been your friend a long time?”  
  
She keeps one hand on his forearm and avoids the dips he warns her about. “Not exactly. Hey I should tell you-”  
  
“And Dean is fond of him?” It’s the first time Jimmy has ever asked a direct question about Dean. Usually he focuses on Sam, as if it’s a safer topic. She wonders about that, but there’s a lot to focus on right now. The ground is slightly rocky, unfamiliar under her feet, and she has to step lightly.  
  
“Yeah. They get along ok. Hey Jimmy, can we head home?” She feels something, something _strange_ , and then it’s gone.  
  
“In a moment. What does Dean do for a living?” Jimmy’s voice never crosses over a certain octave, but there’s an undertone here that makes her stop on the path so she can focus.  
  
“He works as a consultant with law enforcement agencies. It requires a good deal of travel. Why do you ask?” It’s after that, the last word, that she feels his forearm flex and then she smells it. Sulfur. Her mouth is already starting to move, tears forming in her eyes even as she fights the panic to hold onto his arm and stay upright. “Jimmy-shit-we-they’re-“  
  
His forearm leaves her grasp, and then his hands are lowering her even as the full blown spasms begin, as consciousness abandons her. The last thing she understands is that rough voice telling her to relax. That he’ll keep her safe.  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
When she comes back to herself she’s clean already, which is a new feeling because she’s always regained consciousness before anyone can get her to a shower. She’s dressed in her own clothes, her sunglasses in place. There’s an unfamiliar upholstery texture under her, and a room that smells vaguely of mildew and dust. Every sense is on high alert, which doesn’t help the exhaustion or the fear. She stands and loses her balance immediately, falling backwards and knocking her head against the top of the couch. She barks a curse word in annoyance before pushing her way back up.  
  
This is bad. Four alarm fire bad. Her cell phone isn’t in her pocket, and there’s a weight around her ankle that she’s just noticing. She leans down to touch it and finds a cold metal circle that can only be a cuff. It’s solid, hard, and she yanks once and then follows the chain attached to it until she reaches the metal pipe at the end. It’s attached to a radiator, and she pulls several times before giving up. “Jimmy? Hello?”  
  
The room echoes oddly, suggesting that the couch may be the only furniture in it. There’s no response, and she has to bite back panic before it overtakes her. She reaches out and finds the wall, then edges along it counting steps until she runs out of chain. Fifteen and there’s no door or window to break the smooth texture of the wall. She walks in the other direction, same number of steps and her fingers find the indent and smooth glass, but she feels no sunlight through it. When she cries out again it’s more panicked than she’d like, control slipping rapidly under the pressure of the darkness and the silence. “Jimmy? Somebody? Please?”  
  
She hears a rustling, like feathers, and then Jimmy’s voice comes to her from across the distance of the room. “It is alright Ophelia. I will not harm you.”  
  
 _Fuck_. That’s the kind of statement someone makes when they know it’s not true, when they’re preparing for a lie. No reason otherwise to insist. She licks dry lips and tries to stand a little straighter. “Ok. That’s good. Now take off the chain and take me home ok?”  
  
“I cannot do that. The demon forced my hand tonight. It is time I introduced myself properly to Dean Winchester. I need you to do that.” His voice is almost apologetic, but it’s off. The way his touches always have been, as if he doesn’t know what apologies are supposed to really sound like.  
  
She swallows down copper flavored panic. “Jimmy, you’ve met Dean remember? A lot of times. You need to take me the fuck home before this gets ugly.”  
  
“I have been ordered to keep you here. To see how long it takes Dean to find you. Once he does I am allowed to finally show him my true nature. Are you hungry? I can bring you food after you make a phone call.”  
  
Now the panic is bright, lights in the darkness of her lost vision, and she remembers that first seizure when she met Jimmy. How it was odorless and different. The sound of feathers rustling. “What-what are-“ But she can’t finish because she can’t breathe. This is a panic attack. Her brain isn’t being helpful so much as scientific. It’s fucking disconcerting to realize it speaks in her third grade teacher's stringent voice. _You are associating this with the Shifter. Your blood pressure is spiking, your heart rate has at least doubled, and your shortness of breath will only get worse._ It’s like listening to an instructional video as the world goes muted and off around her, her fingers numb and her hands shaking. She fights for breath, and then Jimmy’s blunt fingers are touching her forehead.  
  
“You must take deep breaths and relax now. Not all the way, I need you to sound frightened, but enough to be able to speak.”  
  
His voice, his touch, something eases the panic enough that it’s not overwhelming anymore. She can breathe but it’s laborious. “What the fuck are you?”  
  
“An angel of the Lord. My real name is Castiel. Jimmy Novak is my vessel. I am dialing Dean’s phone number now, and then I will place the device to your face so you can speak to him. Ask him to save you.”  
  
It’s so clinical and calm that Ophelia is fairly certain he’s a sociopath or a psychopath. But the seizure, fuck _the seizure_ , suggests that he’s telling the truth. Jana really didn’t help her much in that respect. She hears the ringing, and then Dean answers, voice bordering on concern.  
  
 _“Ope? What’s wrong sweetheart?”_  
  
“Dean. Dean I need-“ She takes a breath and then another, trying to let her mind work ahead of her voice. “I need you to pack up Sam and run. Run as fast as-“  
  
Jimmy, _Castiel_ , whatever he is grabs her hair in a forceful grip and shakes her once even as Dean’s cutting in.  
  
 _“Where are you sweetheart? What’s got you? We’ll come get you, so just take a deep breath and tell me what you know.”_  
  
“Don't.” She’s not talking to Dean, she’s talking to Jimmy. His loosened grip suggests he knows. “Don't fucking do this. Can’t you leave them alone?” She honestly liked him, the _bastard_.  
  
He takes the phone from her face, and then his voice is calm and rough like it always is. “Dean. Ophelia is not cooperating. I suggest you convince her to do so before I am forced to hurt her. I would not like to do that.” The plastic of the phone touches her face again and Dean is mid-sentence.  
  
 _“-son of a bitch, I’ll kill you. You hear me?”_ She can hear Sam in the background, the bright fear in his voice.  
  
“Dean, you’ve got to run. Run fast and take Sam. This isn’t-“  
  
 _“Ophelia you play along. Say what he wants you to so I can come find you. Stop being a hero sweetheart. There’re people here that won’t live without you.”_  
  
She takes a breath against that, hard and deep, and then she gives in. They won’t listen to her. Their best bet is to be as prepared as she can make them.  
  
“Jimmy says he’s an angel. That his real name is Castiel. We were attacked by a demon, I seized, when I woke up I was here. It’s a house, abandoned by the smell, mildew and dust, only a couch in the room I’m in. One window on this wall that I can find and a radiator. He says you have to find me, and then he’ll introduce himself to you properly. “  
  
 _“Has he hurt you Ope? That you can tell?”_   There’s fury now, barely contained and burning bright with every word. She hears Gabe curse somewhere in the distance.  
  
“No. He’s made it obvious he can though. Do me a favor and back off Winchester. Don’t play this fucking game with him.” She wants to beg more, to scream her fear and rage about the whole situation, but she tries for control instead. She doesn’t hear Dean’s response, the phone is gone again and Castiel’s voice is back just as soothing as it was before.  
  
“I am very sorry about this Dean. I did not want our first real introduction to be done this way. Please believe that. I have left clues on the trail, and I will be destroying this phone now.”  
  
She hears him hit the button, hears the phone crack and shatter, and then his hand is on her shoulder and she’s pulling away from him as best she can.  
  
“You should rest now. Your body has been overly stressed. I will feed you when you wake again. I am sorry about this Ophelia; I am honestly fond of you.”  
  
His fingers touch her forehead, and then there’s nothing.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
She wakes to the smell of a hamburger and the gentle blunt fingers of Castiel. She pulls back so quickly that her head slams against the wall and she curses again. She can't afford to keep visiting doctors. His hands rub the spot until she moves away. “You must be more careful. Eat now.”  
  
There’s silence for a while as she grudgingly accepts the burger and bites into it. She knows better than to starve herself, if she has any chance of making it out here she’ll need strength. “What do you want with Dean?”  
  
He doesn't respond at first, and then she hears his weight settle fully on the floor in front of her. “A war is beginning and Dean is Heaven’s best hope of fighting it. This is the first test to see just how well suited he is for the job.”  
  
She finishes the burger and then wipes her hand on her jeans. Feels along the carpet for the edge of the wall and then pushes herself gently against it. Heaven vying for Dean, Hell for Sam. A variety of things fly through her head, myths and legends that may not be myths and legends. Each one is attached to something Jana showed her, puts images that made no sense into context. The sheer weight of the implication is too much to consider here. Then again she may never have the chance to consider it after this.  
  
“What about Sam?”  
  
The pause is more telling than Castiel probably wants it to be. “Samuel has his own destiny. It is different from Dean’s. They should never have been separated for so long. Now their attachment is more intense than it was supposed to be. If you hadn't have been activated then destiny may have never righted itself.”  
  
There’s Jana again, voice a cool cloth in the center of the fire that took her brain that night, the one that burned her vision away and left her in the dark. _The bond cannot be severed, must not be severed, if both are to survive what is coming._ She hadn’t understood it at the time, it or the visions that came with it, but now she’s putting it all together. _Activated_?  
  
“Why did you have to pretend to date me to get close to Dean? What the hell does activated mean?”  
  
“I needed a way into your home. I needed a way to observe Dean without being exposed. The wards you put up were very good. Even Heaven’s view was obscured by them.” It’s strange how praise is the first emotion he gets right.  
  
“Well if I had known I was getting fucked so regularly I would have smoked more. This isn't gonna work you know. It’s just going to piss-“ Which is when the feeling comes over her again, and she’s never had more than one in a day. Castiel takes her arm immediately as her hands begin to clench and her jaw moves. Fuck.  
  
“It is alright. It is my associate. When you come back I will be here and you will still be safe.”  
  
Then there’s nothing again for a long time, until she comes back and she's nauseous and shaky. Castiel is still there, holding her carefully and his touch soothes the feeling away. She’s grateful even as rage courses through her veins.  
  
“So this is the crippled mud-monkey that caused all the trouble? Just as fragile as promised isn't she?” The tone is cultured and openly aggressive. She doesn’t recognize it.  
  
“Uriel, there is no reason to be rude. She is cooperating and doing her duty. I will have her contact Dean again and ensure that he is progressing with his investigation.”  
  
She’s shaking her head before she can think of stopping herself. Brain too muddled, panic too heavy. “I won’t. I won’t lead him here. You can’t make me.” _That's right Ope. Intimidate them by sounding five years old._  
  
“We can make you do anything girl. You’d best be helpful or else a seizure will be the least of your woes.”  
  
She hears the ringing, then the phone is against her ear and Castiel is gone from her but not too far. She can sense him still. When Dean answers he sounds tired and angry.  
  
 _“Sweetheart? Still doing ok?”_  
  
“Tell him to come alone.” Castiel’s voice is almost a whisper, and the words send her to her feet. She’s wobbling, weak, but she feels the panes of the window behind her. Feels sunlight and knows time has been passing while she’s been in and out. Alone? Come alone? It’s worse than she thought.  
  
“Dean. There’s another angel here now. They want something from you, and they want you to come alone. They’re insistent I tell you that.”  
  
 _“Then I’ll come alone. I think I know where you are sweetheart. I’m closing in now so hold on and-“_  
  
“Do not fucking come here. Don’t fucking help them. Get Sam and run because what they want-” She can’t say it, there’s no time because she can already hear Uriel moving. The phone drops, and then she’s turning as fast as she can and plunging her hands forward to hit the glass. She feels heat, warm liquid and tearing flesh. If she’s dead she’s not bait. It’s the only thing she can think of.  
  
Then she’s on the floor again and the warmth is gone, Castiel’s hands soothing over the places she’d cut and leaving smooth flesh and that’s when she starts to cry, really cry, because there’s no way out of this. No way to not participate in Dean’s downfall. She hears Uriel pick up the phone and the cultured voice is angrier now.  
  
“Your friend does not follow instructions well Dean Winchester. Castiel has healed her self-inflicted wounds, but if you’re not here in four hours I’ll start inflicting wounds of my own. Work faster boy.”  
  
Then his voice is gone, he’s gone, and it’s just her and Castiel. His touch is tender, thoughtful, and she grabs onto familiar forearms and loses all control over her own mouth. “Please, please don’t do this to them. Let me die. Don’t make me bait and don’t-oh god please don’t hurt them.”  
  
When he speaks again the curiosity is back. “You would die to assure they are not broken apart? We did not anticipate the plan going so well.”  
  
She thinks of Dean’s husky laughter, of the sound of Sam murmuring his love to Dean in the dark of the night when they’re both vulnerable and tender, of the wet slide of lips on lips and the dry rasp of skin on skin.  
  
“I'd do anything." _What plan_? There’s nothing else to say. No more pleas and no more begging because it won’t get her anywhere. He won’t let her die, not while she’s bait, and she doesn’t want to live if it means ruining Sam and Dean.  
  
“I will not let Dean Winchester be hurt. I promise you that.”  
  
She can’t help the hopeless laughter, the wave of sadness as she grips painfully at his forearm. “You’re out of fucking touch then. If Sam gets hurt Dean gets hurt.”  
  
She feels him thinking, feels his chewing that over, and then she’s alone and when she stands up and touches the wall it’s smooth. There are no more windows, no more chances of escape, and all that’s left is to sink into the floor and cry.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
  
  
  
She wakes to the sound of gunfire, disoriented and exhausted despite her short sleep. She’d been dreaming, dreaming of a wide and marble filled room and a woman that looked like the Priestess from a Tarot deck and spoke like water in a stream. _Jana_ , she’d dreamed of the goddess talking but she couldn’t remember the words. Only the sound of it and now the air is thick with cordite and anger.  
  
She’s up, stumbling and then pulling, and she can feel the way the cuff bites and eventually breaks her skin but she can’t stop herself. She’s screaming for Dean, for Sam, but mostly for Gabe even though she knows he won’t be there. It's official, she's fucking _snapped_. Whatever it is that Castiel has done to avoid setting off her seizure since that first time Uriel has apparently adopted the technique because the sound of wings is her only warning before she’s lifted from the ground and slammed into the wall.  
  
“Be _quiet_.” No more cultured quality, just aggression.  
  
She licks her lips and then musters up what courage she has left. “’The light of God’ right? That’s what your name means? Tell me, what part of beating up a blind girl is God’s light?”  
  
"You're not a girl. You're a precautionary measure." He punctuates his answer by squeezing her throat once and rattling the back of her skull against the wall. Then the door is slamming open, she hears it bounce against the wall, and Dean’s speaking but his voice is so thick and angry she almost doesn’t recognize it.  
  
“Put her the fuck down and step back. I don’t care what you are.” She can’t hear his boots on the carpet very well, the blood rushing in her ears doesn't help, but the volume of him grows as he gets closer.  
  
“Alright Dean. I’ll do just that. Castiel your _pet_ is here.” She feels the wall sliding along her back, and then the meaty hand is gone and she can breathe deeply. One presence leaves and the other approaches, and suddenly Dean’s scent is all around her and his back is pressed against her front. She takes a deep inhale, and leans her face against the tense muscles along his spine.  
  
“Dean, you have fired that weapon at me several times and it has yet to work. You cannot hurt me or Uriel. Please put down the gun so that we may speak.” Castiel sounds calm still, but there’s an edge of pleading to it that she doesn’t miss.  
  
Before Dean can answer, even as she feels his ribs expand with breath to use for speech, she’s realizing that she hasn’t heard Sam or Gabe. Dean came alone. _Damn it_. “Throw me the keys to the ankle cuff, let me get her out of here, and then you can talk all you want. Can’t say it’s gonna do you a lot of good though.”  
  
“Not an option boy.” Suddenly Dean’s gone, and she’s back in those meaty fists without any transition or warning. She feels the fingers sinking into the flesh of her neck, and then beyond the barrier of her skin and there’s blood dripping down but no pain. _Story of her fucking life_. She hears Dean cry out, hears his refusal, and then the world goes silent and there’s nothing else.  
  
  
  
  
  
\------  
  
  
  
  
  
When she wakes up Dean is there, she can smell him and feel him, and the other two are gone. She’s fairly certain of that. Her neck feels wet, and there’s pressure there from Dean’s hand and the rough rasp of cloth. She has to clear her throat several times before her voice will work. “Did you get the number of that bus?”  
  
There’s a pause and then Dean responds, “The one that hit yah?”  
  
“Yeah. Big fucker. Think it had wings.” She coughs once and longs for a cigarette, but she’s afraid to ask and be denied. Afraid she’ll be told she can’t hold one or handle one. That she’ll never have one again.  
  
“It wasn’t a bus it was a giant flying dick. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice is almost as rough as Castiel’s and he squeezes her once against him before lifting her up. The world is moving now, fast and strange at his loping pace.  
  
“What did they say?” She coughs again, and then the air outside hits her and she takes deep lungfuls of it in an attempt to wash out the smells of mildew, angel, and blood.  
  
“We’ll talk about it later. I need to get you to the motel. Sam’s going out of his mind and I thought Gabe might burst a blood vessel. Turns out he has more than two facial expressions. I know I’m sexy when I bust in all heroic and shit but you gotta stop getting grabbed sweetheart. It’s hell on a man’s sleep cycle.” The tone here is odd, and she reaches up to feel tears on his face.  
  
“Did you know angels existed Dean?” He’s lowering her into the Impala, buckling her belt, and then the smooth feel of plastic and cardboard is in her hands and she gratefully opens the little box to pull out one cylinder and light it. Addictions are serious things.  
  
“Nope. Never believed in them. Now I’m kinda glad.” Fierce and vicious anger, thick bitterness, _sadness_.  
  
She struggles to keep her voice light around the cigarette clenched in her teeth. “Lucky for us you didn’t agree to help them.”  
  
The only response is the roar of the engine turning over, the car pulling backwards and then sliding smoothly forwards. She fumbles for the window lever and then cranks it down. Finally Dean speaks.  
  
“Didn’t have a choice sweetheart. Fucker hurt you, and then made a damn convincing argument. Apocalypse he said.”  
  
Her mind races ahead, moving through her mouth in that bland and detached tone it has sometimes. Stereo instructions. “Un-covering or revelation.”  
  
Dean snorts once and the car hugs turns and accelerates. “Yeah. Tonight’s revelation? Angels are douchebags.”  
  
There’s no good way to respond to that.


	22. Chapter 22

Dean watches carefully, the way her facial muscles tick in her sleep and her hands jerk spastically. Gabriel is standing outside in the corridor, taking first watch against anything else that could crash into them. Sam is holding her, has been holding her since Dean pulled up in front of the motel room. Sam’s fingers trace the bandage covering the puncture marks on her neck, feel her pulse, ghost over the shell of her ear when he tucks her hair back for the hundredth time.

  
His brother has been muttering to her on and off for hours. Soothing little phrases, broken endearments, anything that seems to come to Sam’s mind whether it’s coherent or not passes over his lips. It’s heartbreaking to see, and Dean can’t stop watching. This time Sam can’t blame himself, can’t take it on his broad shoulders, because it’s _Dean_ they wanted and Ophelia they used to get to him. Although now that he knows…  
  
When he thinks of all the times he smiled at Castiel, all the times he let the angel take her away without asking questions, it makes his blood boil and his fists clench. This why dad never made a friend he couldn't walk away from. They were too easy to use against you and they turned on you too often.  
  
Now he’s Heaven’s bitch, no getting around that, and the consequences are something he can’t even consider just yet. Staring at Castiel as Uriel, _and do they all have fruity fucking names or what_ , rambled off the many different ways Dean was going to be their bitch.  
  
He didn’t know what leading Heaven’s forces entailed, didn’t know what they really wanted, just knew that his life was no longer his own, and didn’t _that_ just piss him off.  
  
The whole time the chunky son of a bitch was grinning at him, and dangling Ophelia like a broken toy from his fingertips. Eventually Dean had to give up on trying to be good and interrupt him. “You have to give her to me.”  
  
Uriel’s eyebrow rose, “I have to what?”  
  
“I can’t focus on what you’re saying while you got her hanging from your fingers like meat on a hook. You hand her over, let me hold onto her, and I’ll listen.” He keeps his tone calm and assured because he feels anything but. Every second she hangs there is another second closer to him epically losing his temper right there.  
  
Uriel looks once to Castiel, the move is sly but Dean catches it, and he catches the way Castiel inclines his head just slightly. When the big angel hands her over Dean’s shocked to realize she’s lighter than he remembered. Sam’s right she hasn’t been eating properly, not that it matters right now. He cradles her against him and then looks back up, catching the bigger angel’s eyes. “Now you have to fuck off.”  
  
“What did you just say to-“  
  
“I said fuck off. You’re not in charge. You may both be taking orders, but you’re taking them from him.” He jerks his chin once at Castiel and then shifts Ope in his grasp. He doesn’t want to, but if this gets ugly he’ll have to drop her and step forward to block her body. She needs to be in a position for that. “So I don’t need to talk to you, and I gotta be honest Chuckles I don’t want to. So. _Fuck_. _Off_.”  
  
It’s obvious Uriel wants to say something, to rip him to pieces, but instead he looks to Castiel once and then disappears soundlessly. Now it’s just the two of them and Dean can barely bring himself to look at the blue-eyed angel in front of him.  
  
“Dean, you must believe I never wished to injure her. Allow me to heal her and-“ Dean takes a step back from the advancing angel and grips her tighter.  
  
“We’re gonna lay some ground rules now, and they ain’t negotiable. You got me?”  
  
“I think so.” His gravelly voice is bland, but there’s a hint of curiosity and Dean finally looks at his face and sees the way it’s tilted like a bird staring at something fascinating and foreign.  
  
“I only speak to you. That other son of a bitch? Stays the hell away from me and my family. Say yes or I walk.”  
  
Castiel studies him for a long moment before pointing towards Ophelia. “Does she count as your family Dean Winchester?”  
  
“You’re goddamn right she does. Say yes.”  
  
“Yes. I can accept that condition. Anything else?” He settles into a neutral position, hands hanging limply by his sides even as his eyes keep studying Dean. It kinda gives him the creeps to be honest.  
  
“A lot of things. No one touches her or Sam again. Not you and none of your fellow angels. They’re off-limits from now on. You wanna talk to me, you fucking talk to me. I still hunt. I don’t do collateral damage, you get me?”  
  
“No, but I will have the expression explained to me later. Is there anything else?”  
  
Dean has to think about it, because nothing comes to mind, but at the moment his mind is too busy calculating all the ways this situation is fucked up. The many ways his life has spun so out of control that he longs for the days he slept with pretty and easy girls, got thrown around by ghosts, _felt empty all the time_. “Why her? Why would you have to fucking take her?”  
  
"Do you know what her name means?" His face is still placid, but there's something there that Dean can just see at the edge of those bland blue eyes.  
  
"Helper." _Suicidal assistant,_ she'd said.  
  
"Your friend is a carefully crafted emergency measure. To insure that Samuel would be someone you could love Destiny created a perfect set of circumstances that allowed for Ophelia. She was designed to love your brother, to care for him until you arrived to collect him, and then to be disposable. A fail-safe is the term I believe."  
  
For a moment Dean couldn't breathe. He simply stood there holding her and staring at Castiel. "She isn't-that's not-what?"  
  
"You have heard the human saying God does not play with dice? Well it is true, and Ophelia was the precaution taken. She truly loves Sam, but she was designed to. Designed to die for him when necessary and-"  
  
"Shut up. What do I need to do to get her out of here?"  
  
Castiel nods once and then his eyes narrow. “Say that you give yourself over wholly to the service of God and his angels.”  
  
“I give myself over wholly to serve God and you guys.”  
  
“You swear to follow his will and his word as swiftly and obediently as you did your own father's?”  
  
And that one? It hurts, _bad_ , because that means they’ve been watching him for a long time. Means they’ve come to the same conclusion about Dean’s relationship with his father that Dean himself had come to. “Yeah. I swear. Cross my heart and hope to die.”  
  
“You should never hope to die Dean Winchester. You have a planet full of people counting on you to live.” There’s a pause as he looks at Ophelia hanging in Dean’s arms. “She would have killed herself if it meant keeping you from this. She tried to in fact, and almost succeeded. I would suggest you keep an eye on her. Destiny may have done its job too well.”  
  
With that he’s gone, and Dean kneels down and lowers her gently before pulling off his over shirt and folding it up to press against the finger punctures on her neck. They’re fairly shallow, superficial but ugly, and he’s glad for that. They probably won’t scar. When her eyes flutter open and stare blankly at the ceiling he waits for her to speak.  
  
“Did you get the number of that bus?” Her voice is hoarse and thick, her face working to be funny instead of tragic.  
  
He plays along, because honestly what can it hurt to give her the illusion she’s in control. He will never, _ever_ , tell her a word of what Castiel just said. He carries her though the old mansion, down the stairs and out the once grand entrance listening to her talk and trying to keep up with the witty quips.  
  
It never occurred to him that regaining his little brother would get him a sister, but here she is and he’s not sorry. Not sorry in the least. She’s just like a Winchester, foolish and stubborn, self-sacrificing to the bone and fuck it’s terrible that she’d be like that for them. _Made for that_. She feels his tears and says nothing, leaves him the illusion of masculinity and strength just as he left her hers. He wants to know what they could possibly have planned that would warrant her killing herself instead of letting him come for her, but the way her face sags tells him she won’t be awake long. He’s not wrong.  
  
Which leads him to this moment, watching Sam cradle her like she’s a child as he talks to her. His little brother is beyond broken up, in a space that Dean is almost afraid of. Sam can’t take watching her be pulled apart many more times, and Dean doesn’t blame him. If he has to see Sam like this one or two more times he may go crazy himself. Dean doesn’t sleep that night, waits 'til after midnight to relieve Gabe and heads outside, if only to stop having to watch Sam.  
  
When the sun rises and they pack into the car only Ophelia has slept. Dean drives for eight hours 'til they’re home, and then let’s Sam stagger inside with her. Sam eventually releases her, but Dean has to push him to bed and force him to lie down. He wakes before Sam and spends a long time simply looking at his brother, studying the lines in Sam’s face, the shadows under his eyes. He has to fix this, but he can’t figure out how.  
  
The easiest way to keep them out of it is to leave, but that’s not an option. Dean knows he can’t survive away from Sam now, not with what they’ve become. It doesn’t help that Sam’s been trained, and his brother is a quick learner. He’d track Dean to the ends of the earth and drag his ass back. So there has to be another way, and it starts with learning what’s in store for them.  
  
He finds her where he expected to, sitting on the bench outside with her face turned up towards the sun. It’s midday, Gabriel is snoring on the floor beside her bedroom door, and she’s sitting here without the armor of her sunglasses. Without the protection of someone who can see what’s coming.  
  
“You shouldn’t be alone.” His own voice makes him shiver, it almost sounds like Castiel.  
  
“You should be asleep. How many hours were you up for?” Her fingers are stroking her own forearms, face naked in the sunlight and vulnerable. Her eyes move aimlessly, seeing nothing while roaming over everything.  
  
“Stop that. Stop worrying about me. You really try to off yourself?” He sits beside her and grabs one of her hands, staring at the unmarked forearms. He didn’t miss that there was no window where she said one would be. Didn’t miss the sound of glass crashing after she dropped the phone.  
  
She’s silent for a long time, eyes fixed on him without taking him in. It’s disturbing really, and he suddenly remembers why she likes to wear her sunglasses. “Yes.”  
  
“Why? Why would you do that?” Does she know? Can she tell what's happened to her? He’s honestly curious, but his hand is holding her too tight. She obviously doesn’t complain but he knows there will be a bruise later. He has to force himself to let go and work the stiffness out of his own fingers.  
  
“Did you know there are more than 600 flood myths? They come from all over, and it’s so hard to date them properly that no one really knows which came first. They all have commonalities though, traits that tie them to each other so tightly it’s hard to differentiate sometimes.”  
  
She fumbles for her cigarettes, takes one out and lights it with shaking fingers. He lets her work it out this way. “I didn’t know that.”  
  
“They’re archetypes. Part of Jung’s ‘Collective Unconscious’ or some shit. Learned that from the Discovery Channel. One of those questions without answers, but the result is that legends from all over the world have these similarities, common themes that make them related. And no one really knows why.”  
  
She’s crying now, openly sobbing and not fighting it. Dean doesn’t touch her, a chill he can’t explain running through him as he listens to her work it out.  
  
“There’re other ones. All tied up together like that. A big bundle of strings that can’t be undone. Joseph Campbell’s Hero and the Creation myths. It’s-it’s a-“ Her hands come up, cigarette hitting the porch as her fingers rub at her bare eyes. “Oh fuck Dean. You should have left me there to die. Why didn’t you leave me to die you stupid bastard?”  
  
She turns then, fists beating at him weakly and he lets her until he can’t stand it anymore. Grabs her wrists and rubs them gently as she breaks down. “Tell me sweetheart. Tell me what they won’t.”  
  
“Sam is-they want him for Hell. You for Heaven. The apocalypse Dean. It’s endgame and there’s that one spot where the fight comes down to just two angels. Two angels who fight for the right to be the victor.”  
  
He has to swallow hard, his brain is getting it but his heart doesn’t want him to. Wants to be as stupid as he pretends to be in front of officials and witnesses.  
  
“Two brothers Dean. White versus Black, and Good versus Evil. Another fucking archetype and you agreed didn’t you? You signed on. You signed on which leaves only one person to accept their part in the big show.” She pulls her hands away from him, stands and grips her own thighs tightly. “You should have left me to die.”  
  
A tiny portion of Dean, a section of his soul that’s been saying Sam’s name with longing for all these years, agrees with her.  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
When Sam woke up it was to an empty bed and a head echoing with questions. Dean had explained so little when he came back the night before, and Sam had been so relieved to have Ophelia back alive and breathing he hadn’t asked. Now though, now he needed to know. Bad enough to have Hell gunning for him, now Heaven was in on the action too.  
  
He’d never been religious, not in any traditional sense, because religion was too hard to stomach. He’d imagined there was a Heaven, hoped maybe dimly that there’d be something opposed to the demons he’d met and barely survived, but it wasn’t easy to accept. Hoping for it and knowing it were two completely different things. Because knowing it made the whole thing worse, that there was so much suffering and apparently Heaven just wanted to cause more.  
  
If he had been a praying man, he might have prayed now. Begged God to leave his brother alone, to give Dean a better life instead of adding to his troubles. Sam didn’t pray though, didn’t ask for help or guidance, because they’d met God’s messengers and the end result had been Ope bleeding and Dean with that thunderous look on his face. His brother had never looked more tired, more run-down, than he had the night before.  
  
Sam left the bed slowly, shambled to the shower, and then made his way to the kitchen looking for signs of life. There was coffee but no people, and he ended up finding the three of them on the porch. The sun was high in the sky, already on its descent. He took a spot on the floor of the porch in front of Dean, and felt one calloused hand brush against the back of his neck gently before Dean leaned back on the bench and rubbed at his hair.  
  
“So we’re at war with Heaven now too?” He sounded odd to his own ears, husky and unsure.  
  
Ophelia’s face was turned upwards, and he saw the leftovers of tears there. Gabe's jaw worked mechanically, clenching and unclenching as he considered Sam’s words, and then he was the one to break the silence. “You two should take off for a bit. Get some time together. I’ll stay with Opey.”  
  
He felt Dean shift behind him, and he cut his brother off before Dean could say anything stupid. “That sounds good. We can do that.” There were stories that matched a werewolf nearby, and Sam was pretty sure it was just what Dean needed to blow off some steam. He felt fingers brush through his hair again, and then he leaned back and settled against Dean’s legs. Contact without overdoing the intimacy, and it felt good to simply absorb Dean’s body heat, to feel his strength.  
  
If Dean could face this without screaming, tearing his hair and ripping his clothes, then Sam could too. He could handle this. Heaven had never done anything for him before, why should he miss its support now?  
  
The four of them stayed that way until the sun had set, and then Gabe pushed his way up and stretched. “I’m starving.”  
  
Without asking Dean grabbed him under the shoulders and lifted him up, grunting once and then pushing Sam towards the door. Sam and Gabe went in, Dean and Ophelia stayed behind.  
  
He fiddled with the idea of leftovers, and then pulled out three of the bags of frozen skillet mix Ophelia had bought and started up the oven. It wasn’t the healthiest of meals, but it would be the fastest and most filling. He looked up when they came back in, watched her pale face and Dean’s grim stare, and then went back to cooking. He’d find out what was going on later, for now he had dinner to make, a family to feed, and a werewolf to kill.  
  
  
  
  
\------

 

 

The first thing she learns is that Gabriel is ridiculously hard to predict. She remembers clearly how difficult it was for him to make Hamburger Helper. How uncomfortable he looked. So the mouthful of what must be the world's best Steak Florentine has her cocking her head in the direction of his chewing sounds and frowning.  
  
"You fucking ordered take out. Where did this come from?"  
  
She heard him hum and then a forkful of meat brushed against her mouth and she reflexively opened and took it. "Sweets, I am an enigma wrapped in a mystery locked in a puzzle box."  
  
"You're a lunatic who likes lying to blind girls." It loses some of its potency when she moans at another mouthful. "Also, you're spoiling the shit out of me."  
  
"Yeah, well, somebody's gotta be nice to the crippled. Which reminds me, wanna tell me about this mysterious accident? Or when reality included turf wars between mystical realms? Or how you got involved in said war?"  
  
"Not even a little bit. Isn't this a good meal? This is a good goddamn meal." She found her own fork through some miracle and put more in her mouth to stop the torrent of words.  
  
"Ok. Point taken and received. Still, you could be honest with me for once. I thought I'd earned that." There isn't even a hint of petulance to his voice, but Ophelia finds herself breaking rules and reaching for his face. There's no smile there.  
  
"I sold my sight for knowledge. To a goddess. Which makes it sort of a triumph since that was what I was going for." She forked in another mouthful of steak. "Unexpected side effects." Why the fuck is she talking? What about him suddenly not smiling is loosening her mouth so much?  
  
"Like seizures and such? Pretty hefty price. How many years of lottery numbers did you get?" She reaches again, but there's still no smile. It's…well it's fucking _odd_. That's the best she can say about it.  
  
"A hundred and three. One for every smartass thing you've ever said to me. What's for dessert?" Now there's a smile, and a tongue traces the tips of her fingers.  
  
"I knew I liked you for some reason."  
  
They finish, and dessert is incredible, and then she finds herself curled against him in her own bed with the sound of rain tapping against the windows and the gentle rise and fall of his chest under her head. It makes his voice resonant and echo-like, and she enjoys it more than she thought she would.  
  
"Why didn't you just tell me the truth? I'm an open-minded guy. I'da believed you sweets."  
  
Ope licks her lips and considers that for a moment. "I didn't want-shit man really? I didn't want to be too much baggage for you to come back." He huffs laughter she doesn't understand and then his fingers stroke up the line of her back and she's incredibly sleepy and warm here.  
  
"You _scared_ me." There's an undertone a lot like when he asked her what she prayed for. She chooses to let it go. "Don't do that anymore."  
  
She doesn't respond. It's probably her imagination when lips press against the top of her head. She's half-asleep after all. What he says next is probably her imagination too. That or she's _really_ confused. "This is a harder lesson than I would have given you."

  
  
  


\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean was kneeling in the dirt and Sam watched as his brother’s fingers ran over prints starkly outlined in mud. Dean had been silent for a long time, and Sam shifted his grip on the rifle and swept his eyes over the trees around them to make sure nothing was sneaking up.  
  
Considering all the underbrush it seemed silly, that they wouldn’t be able to hear an approach long before they saw anything, but it was what Dean had taught him to do. Awareness, _always awareness_ , and caution. When he heard the low and fervent “ _Shit_ ” behind him he turned around to see Dean rubbing his mouth.  
  
It would never fail to amaze him the way that Dean changed on hunts. The loss of the easy smile, replaced with that focused predator’s stare. Dean was a different man when they were seeking out evil, and Sam liked it almost as much as he liked the regular Dean. The intensity, the thin veneer of civility covering bloodthirsty ruthlessness. He raised an eyebrow instead of asking and Dean got the question.  
  
“There’re two of them.” He left it at that, standing and popping his knees before stretching his back. Sam got a glimpse of toned abs and then turned his back to Dean and focused on the woods around them.  
  
“So what next?”  
  
“We set up a trap, lace it with bait and then wait for night.” Dean looked around and then back to Sam. “Do you want to shoot or be bait?”  
  
Sam choked for half a second and then spun around to see if Dean was smiling. He wasn’t. Wasn’t joking either. “Bait? We’re not just going to string up some meat or something?”  
  
“They’d see through that.” He waved a hand before using it to rub his mouth again. “They’re not fully animals Sam. Generally they’re too smart to trick with just bloody meat. We’ll get some blood for the scent of it, but we need live bait to bring them in.”  
  
Sam looked down at the rifle and then back up at Dean. It was a stupid plan really, dangerous and kind of insane, but Sam was willing to go along with it. He considered the rocky ground for a while and then pointed North. “There’s a spot up there where the underbrush isn’t too bad heading into that ravine. If we get them to pick up the scent further in the bait can run them into the ravine, and the shooter can stay on top and have a clear sight line.”  
  
Dean’s eyes swept over the area Sam was talking about, green the color of the trees around them, before he nodded once. “I’ll be bait and you take the spot at the top of the ravine. Far enough down you can see the entrance, but not so far you have a hard time spotting me.”  
  
Sam was already shaking his head, hands kept neutral against his jeans. “Dean, you’re the better shot. I’m risking hitting you in the daytime man, imagine what it would be at night with all those shadows and just moonlight.” He saw Dean consider it, saw his brother try to reject the logic of it. “I’m bait. I run faster anyway.”  
  
Sam turned around and started to walk towards the ravine, needing to spot the best way to run in, the fastest escape routes if that became necessary. He barely heard Dean moving through the underbrush and marveled at how quiet he could be. When the hand gripped his elbow he wasn’t sure what expression would greet him, but he turned to see Dean’s easy smile and a look of mock offense.  
  
“What do you mean you’re the faster runner? I am way faster than you dude.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and then gestured to Dean’s legs. “Sure you are. I just cover more ground, because I’m not short.”  
  
Dean huffed and released his elbow, eyes dancing with laughter as he pushed past Sam. “I’ve seen the family pictures little brother. No one is that tall, you’re sort of a freak.”  
  
From anyone else it probably would have hurt, would have taken the smile right off Sam’s face. Instead he laughed and caught up to Dean easily. “Short and bitter and bossy. Just like Napoleon.”  
  
Now Dean looked honestly offended. “I am not French Sam. Take that shit back.”  
  
He just laughed and moved on.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
He ran Dean’s advice through his head as he pretended to struggle with setting up his tent, making as much noise as possible. _Don’t go full speed, keep a lot of space between you, dash if they get too close_.  
  
He could do it, he was sure of it, but the adrenaline already lacing his system was making his hands shake, making the pretense a little easier. He smelled them first, fur and blood, and that only made it a little harder. He waited for the first howl, the first heads-up that he was prey now instead of hunter, and then he took off.  
  
His legs moved easily, eating up the ground as he curved sharply towards the ravine. They’d gone over the path a hundred times that afternoon, Dean insisting Sam should do it until he didn’t need to think about it. He heard the crashing of the underbrush, the panting, and then the ravine was just ahead and he loped through the last of the trees to break out into the rocky enclosure.  
  
He heard the echoes of the beast behind him, slavering jaws snapping and sending off pings from the rocks. His breath was hard and fast, legs falling into familiar rhythm despite the unfamiliar circumstances. The walls were narrowing around him, closing in as the ravine closed, and then he heard the shot. When the second didn’t come but the sounds behind him had stopped he dared to look over his shoulder. There was only one. _Shit_.  
  
He looked up, searching the top of the rocks for Dean and didn’t see the outline of his brother in the overly bright moonlight. His legs began again, pumping hard as he headed back for the entrance and then up the slope, scrambling on scree and falling twice. His jeans were ripped at some point, knees bloodied, and then he heard the second shot and forgot the pain in the interest of finding Dean.  
  
 _Be alright, be alright, goddamn it you have to be alright_. He came around the edge and scanned the line of the drop-off before spotting the bulk of the dead werewolf. He picked up speed, crossed the distance, and then found Dean propped against a tree and holding his side while breathing thickly. Dean offered him a sickly smile, made all the worse by the pale moonlight, and then pointed with his handgun towards the dead werewolf.  
  
“Got him Sammy. Another town saved.” Which was the last thing Dean said before his eyes rolled up and he slumped against the tree.  
  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
  
Sam was glad he worked out; glad he’d been so militant about hitting the gym, because Dean was _heavy_. He didn’t stagger, but it was awkward to carry Dean and the rifle at the same time. He had to trek three miles, his brother hanging limply from his arms, before he reached the Impala and slipped Dean into the passenger seat. He rifled through Dean’s pockets, turning them out as best he could in his panic before finding the keys. The car started on the first try, and Sam hauled ass out of the dirt parking lot and towards the highway. It was only fifteen minutes to the motel room, but they were the longest fifteen minutes of his life. One hand kept the wheel clenched firmly while the other pressed against the shirt he’d wadded into Dean side.  
  
When he got to the motel room he pulled the room key with one hand and went to open the door first before collecting Dean and rushing inside. He dropped his brother unceremoniously on one bed and then dug through the duffel to find the first aid kit. His hands were shaking, shaking so hard he thought they’d fall apart and how the hell was he supposed to stitch Dean up with palsied tremors like this?  
  
When he turned around with the antiseptic in one hand and gauze to clean off the blood in the other Dean was awake again. Staring at him with clenched teeth. “Sam, Sam is it a bite or a scratch?”  
  
Sam knelt beside Dean, lifted the bloody shirt carefully wincing when it pulled at the wound and then stared at the long deep gash on Dean’s ribs. “I think it’s a scratch.”  
  
Dean’s hand grabbed his before he touched it, tight and hot, and Sam looked up to see the pale face and too-wide eyes. “Don’t think Sam, _know_ , we have to know.”  
  
Sam shook his hands off, poured antiseptic over the wound and listened to Dean’s hiss of pain. “It’s a scratch. It _has_ to be a scratch. Just hold the fuck still.”  
  
He kept pouring and wiping until the blood flow was sluggish and easier to ignore. Then he reached for the needle and the thread and winced as he threaded it. “I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what I’m doing.”  
  
“Start at the edge, angle downwards slightly and then through the wound and to the other side.” It had the quality of a script, memorized and thick as Dean clenched his eyes shut and braced himself. “Sew away from you and work upwards, tight and neat stitches. It’ll pull together.”  
  
Sam lines up one shaking hand, and then slides the needle in too deep. Dean never moves, lets out a deep groan and simply stares in horror at Sam’s handiwork.  
  
“Maybe I should do this myself Sam. I’ve got-“  
  
Sam tries again and this time the needle goes through and his hand is surprisingly steady. “I need to learn Dean. If I’m going to be helping you I need to do this.”  
  
Dean doesn’t argue, and there’s this weird goofy smile on his face despite the white taut quality of his skin and the teeth that grind to hold back the sound of his pain. Sam’s not quick about it, and he doubts he’d win any awards, but he manages to close the entire wound tightly and then tie off the line. When he’s done he cleans the whole thing again, places on the gauze, and then crosses the small room and bends over the toilet to throw up everything he’s eaten that day, and maybe some of yesterday. It’s hard to tell, but it lasts a long time. When it’s finally over he brushes his teeth several times and then heads back into the bedroom to see Dean struggling to remove his shoes.  
  
He doesn’t ask, kneels before his older brother and unlaces each boot before pulling them off. Dean’s got knobby toes, strange considering how stream-lined and smooth the rest of him is minus the bow-leggedness, and Sam realizes it’s a part of Dean he’s never really looked at before. The socks need to be replaced, there’s a huge hole in one but he folds them and lays them over the boots before helping Dean out of his jeans.  
  
It’s the least sexual thing they’ve ever done, Sam isn’t interested in licking Dean right now so much as studying every part of him. The patterns of hair over his legs, the little mole near his groin, the scattering of freckles over his shoulders. He looks at old scars, runs his fingertips over veins and arteries, examines each ridge of muscle and bone as if he’s planning on rebuilding Dean from scratch one day. When he’s finished looking he touches, slow and gentle, hands rubbing at tense lines and knots until Dean is relaxed and limp under his hands.  
  
“A guy could get used to this Sammy.” It’s said lightly, but there’s an undertone Sam doesn’t miss. He kisses a freckle, kisses another one, and then wraps himself around Dean.  
  
Suddenly he’s shaking, adrenaline all gone and pulse going mad. His hands aren’t soothing anymore, they’re bruising as he grabs onto Dean like something’s trying to drag his brother away. Dean doesn’t fight him, doesn’t struggle, he just submits to Sam’s painful grip. Lets Sam smash their lips together, and only grunts when teeth hit teeth.  
  
There’s a copper taste, either blood or panic Sam’s not sure, but his hands are roaming now, one gripping any part of Dean’s uninjured side that he can grab and the other holding onto the radial artery and feeling the strength of Dean’s pulse like Dean once found his. This time instead of proof of veracity it's proof of life.  
  
He slides down, finds Dean hard, and takes the length into his mouth, never once releasing Dean’s wrist, never letting go of that rapid pulse. He can hear Dean groaning, pleading for something, but that’s not what Sam wants. Any other activity has too many possibilities of hurting Dean worse, exacerbating the injury Sam’s just stitched, and all he really craves is to feel Dean alive underneath him. To know it was just a deep scratch and that it won’t take away everything he loves.  
  
Angels, _fucking angels_ , want to take Dean away and Sam won’t let them. Won’t let it happen because the taste of Dean’s skin and the sound of his moans are all Sam’s. Sam’s forever and ever amen and fuck Heaven if they think they can change it. Sam will kill for this, bleed for this, do whatever is necessary to always be able to simply reach out and touch Dean. Know that he’s alive and real and Sam’s.  
  
He goes until Dean’s hips stutter, until his brother lets out one warning cry, and then he swallows Dean down and lays his head on the twitching thigh, fingers still rubbing at the radial artery, still taking in the slowing heartbeat. He feels fingers threading through his hair, hears Dean’s sleepy offer to reciprocate and shakes his head. Hell he hasn’t even undressed yet, sneakers tracking mud over the comforter where he’s dragged them, but what does it really matter? The comforter is temporary, the room is temporary, it’s Dean that’s _permanent_. Has to be permanent. Because otherwise Sam will be nothing.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s slow going getting into the house. Dean knows better than most how careful you have to be with field medicine, how sloppy the stitches can be. Sam didn’t do a terrible job, but it’s a little fragile and he’s not willing to risk it. Instead he takes the hill slowly, throwing off one crack about Sam’s gentlemanly nature when his brother insists on carrying all the bags.  
  
It’s the quiet in the house that strikes him first, and then he hears the low groan and Ophelia saying _please_. That’s all it takes for him to pull the gun out from his waistband and crouch, feet moving silently over the carpet as he crosses through the living room and into the back hallway. He hears one of those groans again and takes the safety off, hand testing the knob to find it locked.  
  
Picking it would be simple, but make a good deal of noise, and if he has to make noise it should be part of the attack. He hears Sam come in behind him, soft but not soft enough and makes the decision quickly. He stands fully, foot pulling up, and then he’s kicking the door just underneath the knob and watching it splinter and fly open even as his one free hand steadies his wound.  
  
He feels Sam approach behind him even as the scene before him finally registers. The gun is pointed at Gabe, who is staring at him with raised eyebrows from his position on the bed. Gabe on his back, Ophelia above him on her knees, straddling his crotch and mid-intercourse. Her head is turned his way, her hands planted on Gabe's chest for support, and Dean sees the way Gabe holds her hip protectively with the hand not being raised in a mockery of truce. There’s a long moment of silence, and then Ophelia’s voice is hesitant and quiet.  
  
“Uh, are we being attacked?”  
  
Gabriel shifts, she moans, and Dean’s biting his lip even as he re-engages the safety and lowers his gun. “Hey, congratulations you two. Let me just-uh the door probably won’t close fully so-“  
  
Behind him Sam is laughing, laughing at him, and it’s such a good sound Dean can’t even find it in himself to complain. Instead he watches the way Gabe's smirks broadens, and then steps back and away.  
  
“We’ll just-yeah ok.” He pushes Sam, who’s helpless with laughter at this point, and closes the door to the hallway. They stand across from each other in the living room for a long time, Sam wiping at streaming eyes while Dean tries to figure out if he should be embarrassed or flippant about the whole thing. Either way, he soaks in the sight of Sam laughing, mouth curled upwards and hazel eyes sparkling, and thinks that maybe they have a chance of surviving this whole mess.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indulge me, when the story prompts it, open up a new tab and play this. I can almost assure you that you won't regret it.

Dean heals quickly, but Sam’s instrumental in that because if Dean had his way he’d rush headlong back into danger, fragile wound or no. They fight, frequently, about Dean’s limitations. Once so badly Sam was shouting with his fists clenched while Dean simply ground his teeth and insulted him. They slept separately that night, Sam not willing to let Dean touch him even after he apologized for some of the lower blows he’d thrown.

  
Still, time moved, summer rolled fully in, and Sam got picked to be sent to a conference in Denver. Dean flirted with the idea of finding a hunt in the area, traveling there to be closer to Sam, but he tossed it shortly after it came to him. It wouldn’t hurt for them to be apart for a while, and somebody needed to stay with Ope even if she said they didn’t.  
  
He drove Sam to the airport alone, stole a kiss in the parking lot, and then slapped Sam once sharply on the ass outside of airport security. It made him nervous just being in the building, but he hid it deep and simply smiled at Sam. It was fun to watch Sam walk away, to see the way hazel eyes glanced back over one broad shoulder to see whether Dean was still watching or not.  
  
When he got back to the house Ope was there, sitting in the living room with the headphones from her computer on and her fingers tapping the desk idly. He didn’t approach, knew he’d only scare her if he touched her, and went instead into her room to dig through books 'til he found one that had a hefty section on the Apocalypse.  
  
He still didn’t know enough details, but if he was going to prevent the fight with Sam he’d need to know every aspect of the process. He took the couch behind her and flipped through pages, dry lectures on what Apocalypse meant and the historical context of Biblical prophecy. When he felt her hand on his shoulder he looked up to see the sun had gone down.  
  
“How’d you know I was here?” He closed the book and dropped it on the coffee table.  
  
“You smell. Can I get a hand?” Her grin was wicked, disconcerting, and Dean was happy to see it.  
  
“Sure, yeah, what’d yah need sweetheart?”  
  
“Come with me.” He followed her into the bathroom, watched her root around under the sink for a few minutes and then come up with four cardboard boxes. She held them out. “Two of these are bleaching kits, two should be a burgundy color. Start with the bleaching.”  
  
He stared at the boxes for a long time before looking up. “You sure you want me to do this? I’m probably gonna fuck it up.”  
  
“Well who's gonna tell me?” She shrugged carelessly and pulled her shirt off.  
  
Ope gave him tips, laughed as he worked, and then while they waited for the bleach to do its thing she directed him to pick out a specific album and put it on.  
  
“French? You want to listen to French music?”  
  
“It’s not French music you xenophobic ass, they’re from Canada. Skip to track ten and put it on repeat.” She lit a cigarette and waved one hand imperially. He laughed at that.  
  
“Bossy little thing ain’tcha?” He put the disc in, skipped to the track she wanted and hit the repeat button. The soft piano notes started it off, and he sat near her and listened as the violins kicked in. “So it’s Canadian Orchestra music? What happened to your love of shouting women and generic metal?”  
  
She rubbed her forehead. “Shut the fuck up and listen to the words.”  
  
 _“There is a house built out of stone/ Wooden floors, walls and window sills/ Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust/ This is a place where I don't feel alone/ This is a place where I feel at home”_  
  
The tempo picked up slowly, piano building speed and power. Her face was placid, serene, and Dean half-watched her as he listened to the words just like she’d requested.  
  
 _“Cause, I built a home/ for you/ for me”_  
  
He saw Sam in his mind’s eye, Sam smiling and laughing, Sam grim and serious. Sam holding on so tightly to what little life had given him, as if at any moment something would steal it all away. Which wasn’t too far from the truth because from what Dean had seen so far that was all life seemed to do.  
  
 _“By the cracks of the skin I climbed to the top/ I climbed the tree to see the world/ When the gusts came around to blow me down/ I held on as tightly as you held onto me/ I held on as tightly as you held onto me”_  
  
Sam standing vigil for Dean’s heart and soul, Sam waiting to make sure he could put the pieces of Dean back together long before he’d even consider putting himself back together. The violins were picking up the pace, the singer’s voice haunting and slow, and Dean gripped the arm of his seat as he remembered Sam kneeling before him after the werewolf hunt, trembling so hard Dean thought he’d fall apart. Sam desperate for him to live.  
  
It wasn’t that no one had felt that way before. Dean had Bobby, which was as close to a friend as Dean came, before Sam. He had his father. But John Winchester had always insisted Dean ride into danger with him for civilians. It didn’t make Dean less worthy, it made them _both_ less worthy. John treated Dean the way he treated himself, an extension of himself really, and after all these years what more did he expect?  
  
He’d read the journal cover to cover now, studied each page, and the recounting of his mother’s death, the explanation for getting rid of Sam, all of it only served to make Dean question every fond memory of his father that he’d ever had. He’d always considered his dad something of a superhero, untouchable and strong against a world that specialized in beating on the weak. Now he saw him as a man. A man that had made a lifetime of mistakes all in the name of the greater good. He still didn't understand all of the reasoning. His father wrote about a psychic, a prophecy, but what the prophecy was he never said. It was goddamn _maddening_.  
  
If he accepted the idea of being Heaven’s tool, if Ophelia was right and he was supposed to slaughter Sam for the greater good, could he do it? Would that be an option, to sacrifice his brother, his partner, his everything, for a world full of strangers?  
  
 _“Until it disappeared/ from me/ from you/ And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust”_  
  
 _No_. It wasn’t an option, would never be an option. It wasn’t a pretty thing, wasn’t noble or strong, but Dean was sure of it. Fuck the world and every last stranger in it. Sam was what mattered, Sam and always Sam. Dean didn’t necessarily like that voice, that violent thing inside him that would sacrifice countless innocents for his brother, but he knew it couldn’t be avoided or forgotten. When he looked up he saw Ophelia staring into nothing, sunglasses off and blue eyes unfocused and moving in a line over the room she only knew in her memories. _God does not play with dice_ …  
  
“Ope-“his voice cracked and he cleared his throat to try again. “Ope why did you want me to play this?”  
  
“It’s a good song isn’t it?” Tears started to track down her face. “It’s powerful shit. Despite being Canadian.”  
  
Her hair was rapidly undergoing a transformation, lightening before his eyes, and he watched it change as the song restarted and she rubbed her cheeks briskly. “I won’t fight Sam. I won’t kill him.”  
  
She turned her head his way. “We don’t know that I’m right. It’s just a fucking theory.” There was no determination in that though, she knew perfectly well she was right. Her ritual had given her the puzzle pieces, but no greater picture to assemble them to. Castiel had done that last part, handed her the means to understand the image almost in its entirety. Minus the piece Dean held with her face on it.  
  
“How light is your hair supposed to get?” He swallowed hard and glanced once at the stereo, half-tempted to turn it up, the other half wanting to shut it off entirely.  
  
“Just light enough to be rid of the black. Is it there yet?”  
  
“Yeah. Let’s go.” He washed her hair in the tub, careful that she tilted it just right and that he got all of the gritty bleach feel out of it. When he was done he dried it for her slowly, thinking about the short time he had with baby Sam. How he’d watch his father give Sam a bath, cupping water in his big rough hands before tilting it over Sam’s head. How gentle his dad had been with Sammy then, in those short months before he let Caleb leave his youngest son on the hospital steps.  
  
When her hair was dry she explained the mixing process for the burgundy, laughed softly as he bitched about the smell of the chemicals, and suggested as he was halfway done applying the mixture that he should check to make sure his balls were still attached.  
  
The final product was devastating, the purplish red worked with her skin tone, accentuated the color of her eyes, and he wondered distantly how Sam had never fallen in love with this girl. As if she could read his mind she reached up and found the hand he was using to brush her hair.  
  
“His whole life Sam was waiting for you without knowing it. I’m glad you finally came.”  
  
He had to swallow, the cycle of light-hearted and serious too much for him. “You reading my mind sweetheart?”  
  
Her smile was soft, amused and sad. “You’re thinking aloud asshole. Let’s have lunch.”  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
Sam had decided on the second day that he hated the conference. He talked to Dean and Ope every night, laughed until he cried when she described making Dean color her hair. He could hear his brother grumbling in the background, throwing out quips of his own to counteract her claims that Dean had been a natural at the process.  
  
When Dean had the phone back from her his gravelly voice made Sam shudder. _“I swear she’s more insufferable every damn day.”_  
  
Sam wiped at his eyes. “Yep. How are you Dean?”  
  
He heard a door open and close. _“Good. Working on the gutters tomorrow. Damn things haven’t had maintenance in years far as I can tell. How are you Sammy?”_  
  
Sam leaned against the headboard, soaked in the rich tones and nodded his head along with the words. “I’m ok. Kind of quiet here right now. They’re having a dinner downstairs but I wanted to call you guys before it got too late.” He toyed with the bedspread for a moment and then took a deep breath. “I kind of miss you.”  
  
There was a chuckle, warm and friendly, _“Aw Sammy of course you do. It’s always hard for a lady to be separated from her man.”_  
  
“Jerk.”  
  
 _“Bitch.”_ He heard something else there, longing, and knew for a fact Dean only let him hear it to soothe any sting the joke might have had.  
  
“Did you guys eat something healthy for dinner at least?”  
  
“ _Yeah man. Really healthy. There was a lot of green and fiber.”_  
  
His eyes traveled past the generic hotel wallpaper and over to the view outside the window. “So cheeseburgers or tacos?”  
  
 _“Tacos. All the food groups covered in a crunchy shell.”_  
  
“Dean that’s not-“ there was a knock at the door and Sam covered the receiver for half a second to tell the person on the other side to wait. “I have to go. Room service is here. I’ll see you tomorrow?”  
  
 _“Sure thing. Be good Sam.”_  
  
He smiled and rubbed at his eyes again. “You too Dean. Hug Ope for me.”  
  
Sam disconnected the call and got up to cross over to the door. The peephole showed him a slight blonde woman with a cart beside her. She waved once and he opened the door and gestured her inside, watching as she pushed the service cart in first.  
  
“Just put it near the bed. How much do I owe you?” He was digging through his wallet when he felt the tap on his shoulder and turned to see her smiling, eyes fully black.  
  
 _Fuck_.  
  
“We have to talk Sam.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean sat across from her, watched how her fingers twitched with nerves despite the calm mask she was working for. “Ok. So just pray for him.”  
  
He squinted once and then looked up at the sky. “Are you kidding me? Pray for him?”  
  
“Well he works for God Dean. How else? It's not like we have a goddamn phone number.”  
  
He rubbed at his hair and let that one go, not willing to argue or try to build a comeback. “Dear Castiel, it’s Dean Winchester and I really need to talk to you. Amen.”  
  
Neither of them spoke for several minutes, crickets chirruping loudly in the darkness that had settled around them. Just as Dean was about to point out how stupid the whole idea had been he felt a tap on his shoulder and jumped up from the patio chair. Ophelia jerked once, hands clamping down on each other, and when Dean found his breath again he put one soothing hand on her and turned accusing eyes on Castiel.  
  
“Hey, maybe a little warning next time guy? A sound or something?”  
  
“You called upon me Dean. What more warning do you require?” Castiel raised one eyebrow slightly and stared heavily.  
  
“Well I never thought it would fucking work.”  
  
“Then why would you-“  
  
“Hey, _both of you_. Focus.” Ope’s hand grabbed Dean’s tightly and then released as she worked a cigarette out of her pack. “We have questions Castiel.”  
  
“I am only supposed to interact with Dean, per his request.”  
  
Dean wasn’t sure if he should laugh or scream. “I’m making an exception. She’s got questions I want the answers to.”  
  
Castiel turned his blue gaze on her and Dean was surprised to see the way she shivered under it, as if she could feel it. “Please, ask your questions Ophelia.”  
  
“There are Seven Seals right? That have to be broken before the Apocalypse happens?” Dean feels her fingers twine into his and he holds them.  
  
“I am assuming you are referring to your Book of Revelation. No, there are roughly 600 Seals, and only 66 of them must be broken for the Apocalypse to happen. There is also no seven-eyed lamb.”  
  
He controlled his urge to laugh when he felt her hand jerk sharply in his, and then she was standing. “We need a list. If we have a list we can stop them. Do you-is there an order to them?”  
  
Castiel tilted his head once and then looked upwards briefly. “Heaven is handling the protection of the Seals with the assistance of Dean Winchester. You do not require a list.”  
  
Dean stepped forward then, hand reaching out to touch Castiel’s shoulder and turn him. “ _I_ require a goddamn list. Is that good enough?”  
  
“We will tell you when a Seal is in danger. You will go to protect it.” Castiel’s eyes fixed on Dean’s hand.  
  
“What if there’s a way to make sure it can’t happen? Moving something from one place to another or heading off an attack? If we can prevent it entirely that seems more logical than waiting for it to be threatened.” Ophelia’s voice is slightly off, timid and questioning.  
  
“These are my orders.”  
  
That’s it for Dean. The last damn straw, because really? _Orders_? His entire life has been a series of orders from absent fathers. First his own and now God’s. He’d be damned if he was going to let it continue. “Fuck your orders. She’s right, if we can stop them ahead of time we should. If there’s an order to it we’d have an easier time. We could just prevent the first one and-“  
  
“The first Seal has already broken.” It’s his face that sells it, that makes Dean believe this isn’t just a brush-off to avoid giving them a list.  
  
“What was the first Seal? Who broke it?” He glances once to see if maybe Ophelia has an idea but she looks just as confused and horrified as he feels.  
  
“A righteous man had to shed blood in Hell.” There’s silence, this terrible oppressive silence, because now Dean understands the look. The barest sign of _pity_ intermixed with Castiel’s usual bland expression.  
  
Ophelia doesn’t get it, and if Dean can ever find his voice again beyond the horror of what’s happened he’ll be sure to point out that he beat her to the punch this time. “A righteous-what? You're telling us Hell's been around how damn long and this is the first righteous man to shed blood?”  
  
“Hell chose a specific man. He has given in and begun to torture other souls. That was the first Seal.” Castiel stared at her, and Dean watched as realization dawned on her face. She didn’t reach for him, didn’t try to comfort him, and he was insanely glad for that. His father had sold his soul for him, and now the Apocalypse was coming. It wasn’t the first time Dean wished his dad had simply let him die.  
  
She swallowed hard and then took a step forward. “Ok. Ok so that’s a done deal, but the other ones could be stopped. It's not all gone to shit right?”  
  
Castiel pursed his lips once and considered the sky again. “It is logical.”  
  
“Then go tell whoever the hell you report to I want a list. I want to get the drop on these bastards. You got me?” He’s talking low enough that it sounds like a mockery of Castiel’s voice, but he can’t help himself.  
  
Castiel nods once, turns as if to leave, and then stops. “Were those your only questions Ophelia?”  
  
“No. If it happens, if the Apocalypse starts, is there a final battle? Between Lucifer and Michael?”  
  
There’s a stiffness to his shoulders that Dean hasn’t seen before. “Do not ask that ever again. It is not a safe question. I am very sorry that you were injured and frightened, and I would be sorry to see it happen again.” Dean’s hackles are up, he’s stepping forward, but Castiel’s voice stops him. “I am truly quite fond of you Ophelia, but you are over-stepping your boundaries.”  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam has time to take in the break in the salt line from the cart’s wheels, the empty hallway beyond the door, and the duffel bag across the room that holds no weapons because the TSA doesn’t accept _‘I’m being hunted by demons’_ as a reasonable excuse for bringing a gun or a knife on board. He scans all of these things and then he’s pinned against the wall and the door is flying shut. The blonde steps up near him, and he’s surprised to see that she looks honestly apologetic, black eyes turning warm brown as she pats his shoulder gently. It's a miracle he's not shaking, not falling apart, but Dean's "training" voice is in the background telling him to conserve his energy and make a damn plan.  
  
“I’m really sorry about this kiddo. It’s a precaution you understand. I need to talk to you without the blood and violence.”  
  
He pulls against the invisible force holding him to the wall, and when he knows he can’t break free he leans his head back and settles for glaring. “So talk.”  
  
“I want to help you. I’m here to help you make sure-“  
  
“Bullshit. Help me? You ambushed me. All of you are the same, just like Ruby you-“  
  
She looks mad now, but the force doesn’t increase and there’s no pain. “Ruby? That bitch? Ruby’s a bruiser, a worthless dog who’d do anything if it made her master happy. Not all demons are the same Sam. Some of us want a better life, some of us just want to survive. Count me in both of those categories. I don’t want Lucifer out of the Cage.”  
  
Sam feels his face show the confusion before he can stop it. When she sees it she pulls back, surprised enough that it seems like an honest question. “You don’t know? Your meddling friend and brother didn’t tell you what’s coming?”  
  
He tries to school his face, force himself into a placid calm, and fails miserably. “The Apocalypse. They told me.”  
  
“But they didn’t tell you about the Cage, or the final battle.” She laughs bitterly and shakes her head. “Amazing. He must be closer to giving in then we thought.”  
  
Sam can’t help the confusion, and he really can’t help the interest he has in her story now. “Who’s giving in to what?”  
  
Suddenly the force is gone, Sam’s standing on his own two feet and she’s crossing the room to sit on the bed, hands running through her bobbed hair. “Your brother. The one raised with Winchester values. He’s already been picked for Heaven’s team right? Didn’t you think to ask him why Sam, or for what?”  
  
Sam had asked him. Asked him more than once, and Dean had told him it was to fight off the Apocalypse. If he’d gotten a glimmer of something, something hidden or held back, then Sam had let it go. Dean had a lot on his mind and it was obvious he wasn’t too fond of talking about the whole thing. The blind faith he’d shown in Dean then, the complete lack of curiosity as to whether or not he should know the secret was suddenly overwhelming.  
  
“To stop the Apocalypse. Lead an army or something. What the fuck does it matter to you? What’s this about Lucifer and a Cage?”  
  
She gestured widely. “It’s everything Sam. The Apocalypse is just a series of events leading up to letting Lucy out of the Cage, and once that happens it’s the big battle between him and Michael, and then if he wins Hell on earth. I’m hoping we can help you stop that, because honestly? I don’t want earth to be Hell. I come here to get away from the Pit. But Ruby, and Brady, and Azazel all want it to happen, and you are their Golden Boy. If they got their way you’d be Lucifer’s meat suit and fight the last battle.”  
  
Sam watches her face, honest and open, _intense_ , and the cold that’s always present in his skin settles into his spine. “So they need vessels to fight the last battle?”  
  
She nods and points a finger. “They said you were smart kiddo. They were right. Now think real hard Sam. Who’s gonna be the vessel for Lucifer’s big brother Michael?”  
  
The world trembled, wavered, and then Sam was sitting because his legs wouldn’t hold him up. He thought about mossy green eyes, hot skin stroking against him, the warmth and safety of Dean’s arms. He thought about the way his brother laughed, how easy it was to brush leg against leg or shoulder to shoulder. “No.”  
  
“Yes. Yes to all of it Sam, and your brother is gonna say yes to Michael when the time comes because he has no other choice.”  
  
Sam’s shaking his head, trying not to tremble with the horror of it. “He wouldn’t. I know Dean and-there’s no way he’d-he couldn’t.”  
  
“I wish you were right kid, but I’ve been part of the anti-Winchester force longer than you can imagine. Your family’s legendary in the Pit and we study you guys pretty closely. Your brother is gonna cave to their demands because they’ll tell him how many innocents will die if he doesn’t. If his angel buddies haven’t already gotten him to agree. Dean not telling you that’s the plan suggests he may have.”  
  
He finds the strength to stand then, one hand on the smooth wall to keep him steady even as he’s shaking his head. “Dean wouldn’t hurt me. He _can’t_.”  
  
She looks sympathetic now, pitying, and Sam hates it. Wants to grab her and throw her out the window, exorcise her, scream at her until she simply dies under the force of his rage. “You poor kid. Everybody around you has really botched this up haven’t they? Dean won’t want to hurt you, won’t like hurting you, but he’ll do it. Because saving people is always first priority for a Winchester, and Sam you aren’t exactly a _person_. You’ve been pumped so full of demon blood you almost qualify as one of us.”  
  
He hit her then, hand flying before his head realized what it was doing and she took the blow in stride. When her head turned back she was already wiping the blood from her lips. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know anything about my brother.”  
  
She stood then, eyes black again and hard. “Alright Sam. Figure it out the hard way, but when you realize you need help to stop the Apocalypse just give me a call. You’ll find me listed under Meg.”  
  
The demon sauntered out, hips swaying, and Sam waited until she was gone, until he’d locked the door behind her and reset the salt line to collapse again.  
  
It couldn’t be true. _Couldn’t_. Dean would never hurt Sam, never betray him, and Sam knew that. Except Dean knew something, Sam had seen it hidden, and why hadn’t he told him? Why had he kept something this big from him?  
  
Dean was a professional liar, Sam knew that, had known since the beginning. If he was really hiding this then asking him outright wouldn’t get Sam an honest answer. Ophelia on the other hand, she’d never been very good at lying to Sam. So she’d be the one to ask.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
Ophelia leaned back in her chair and pointed a tired finger in Dean’s direction. “We have to figure out how to stop the Seals from being broken. If the Bible isn’t any help then we’ll need other sources.”  
  
Dean tightened his grip on the back of the chair he was straddling, working the wood like he was trying to choke it. He couldn’t wrap his head around the whole thing, it was just too big. He was made for fighting, for killing, and he was damn good at it. Had been trained for the hunt since he was too little to really understand it. Heaven and Hell at war, the Apocalypse, killing-  
  
His mind rebelled at the thought, spun away from it and focused on the rest. It was above his pay grade, far outside of his reach, and his only back-up at the moment was Ophelia. He needed to get a handle on this and there was only one person he knew who could possibly work this whole shattered thing into the semblance of a fixable problem.  
  
“I’m going to talk to Bobby.” Her head jerked when he said the name and then she slapped the table.  
  
“That crazy old bastard will want to get involved Dean. We decided _not_ to do that remember?”  
  
“I won’t let him. He’s our best option Ope, our only one. No one knows this stuff like Bobby.”  
  
She was shaking her head already, reaching for her cigarettes and then rejecting them. “A lot of people know this stuff Dean. A lot of fuckers with no interest in getting into danger. A whole network of Theology and Religious Studies professors, priests and ministers, and there’s always-I could try my hand at summoning again. It wouldn’t be-“  
  
“ _No_.” She flinched at the deadly cold in his voice, but he didn’t have time to feel guilty about that. “Absolutely not. You’re not selling off more parts of your life. No more goddamn deals.”  
  
She absorbed that, considered it, and then reached forward and felt until she found Dean’s hand. She gripped it tightly. “Promise me. Promise me that Sam won’t be hurt. That you’ll protect him. Tell me he’s your first priority.”  
  
“Always. I’ll always protect Sam, don’t you worry about that.” He stood and nudged her upwards gently. “Go to bed Ope. I’ll call Bobby in the morning.”  
  
He hoped that this was the best option, the best course of action, because it was the only one he could see.  
  
Dean spent the night pacing, unable to rest and unwilling to drink in the hopes of finding sleep. At some point in the middle of the night Ophelia came through the door and sat on the floor. She never spoke, never moved, simply sat there with her head in her hands and listened to his feet swish through the carpet. It was comforting really, to know he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. His father had-Sam was-  
  
 _Fuck it_. There was no solving this easily, and Dean knew that, but he held to the belief that whatever happened he wasn’t willing to give Sam up. To hurt Sam. He’d blow the world up himself, rip apart Heaven and Hell, whatever it took because no one was taking his little brother from him again. He would be damned first. _Probably already was._  
  
When the sun came up he called Bobby, kept the conversation short and easy without a plethora of details. Bobby said he’d research it, but told Dean that he’d be getting more story before he gave answers. It worked because it gave Dean time to come up with a lie Bobby might believe.  
  
He worked on the gutters, came back in to find Ophelia sitting in the kitchen with her head on the table sleeping. He left her there, took a long shower, and started rustling up leftovers to reheat for lunch. Sam’s flight landed shortly before midnight, and he had to take a nap before he went or Sam would know something was up.  
  
Ophelia roused just long enough to eat the reheated Chinese and then pat Dean’s bicep once awkwardly. They napped in the living room, TV droning in the background as the time to leave rushed on. Ophelia broke the silence only once, shortly before Dean was supposed to get up and get ready for the trip.  
  
“Want me to stay here?”  
  
Dean considered it, almost said yes because he’d like to greet Sam properly, and then thought better of it.  
  
“No. You should come along.”  
  
He didn’t explain, didn’t think he needed to, that it would be easier to face Sam if he had support. Easier to lie to Sam’s face about what they were up against. It wasn’t that Dean was worried about Sam making the wrong choice, it was that Dean didn’t want Sam making a choice at all. This was his best chance to protect Sam from a truth that would only hurt him. There was so much coming, so many things that wanted to hurt Sammy, and this was one Dean could protect him from.


	24. Chapter 24

Sam was greeted outside of security by Ophelia and Dean. He hugged her first, pulling her in tightly and taking a deep breath of her conditioner and shampoo. When he pulled back she sniffed once and rubbed under her eyes. “Dean’s been abusing me this whole time Sammy. I begged him to make something with vegetables, to not force me to drink, to let me sleep, but he just kept saying no. It was _awful_.”

  
He tried for a stern expression, and couldn’t manage one when he saw the naked shock on Dean’s face. He had honestly thought upon touchdown that nothing could make him laugh. That Meg’s words would have him greeting them with a face like death. Instead here was Dean and Ope, and here was Sam laughing until his sides hurt.  
  
He let her go, stepped over to Dean, and shook one mock admonishing finger. Dean looked at it for all of five seconds before pushing it away and grabbing Sam into a hug so tight his ribs creaked. “Good to have you back Sammy. I was a day away from killing her.”  
  
“ _He thinks of me as a sister._ ” She sang in a falsetto voice as she put her hand on Sam’s forearm and let him lead her out of the airport. It never failed to amuse him how far out of her way she’d go to avoid using the cane. Dean grunted behind him and as soon as they’d reached the car and Ophelia was feeling for the handle of the back door he felt a hand grip his shoulder tightly and pull.  
  
Sam let himself be turned, let Dean lead him down and claim his mouth. It was heated, _all_ of Dean’s kisses were, and rough. Sam had never been more grateful to be greeted. The kiss took away any lingering chance of him giving away what he knew. It opened the door instead to holding onto Dean, to leaning on his strength instead of standing under the weight of what Meg had told him. At least for a little while.  
  
Dean pulled back without releasing him, and Sam shuddered when Dean’s nose found the spot underneath his ear that was so sensitive and nuzzled there. Sam tried to make it sound like a joke, but it came out wanting and desperate instead. “You must have really missed me huh Dean?”  
  
“You have no idea Sammy. No idea. Welcome back.” Dean pulled away from him, all swagger and bravado again. “I hope you weren’t expecting a big meal, ‘cause the best I can offer you is cold Chinese and beer. Thanks to the lush in backseat I don’t even have much of that.”  
  
“Hey! I don’t drink your shitty light beer. That stuff is for women and men with love handles.”  
  
There was dead silence for about three miles, Sam trying not to laugh and Dean working his jaw. When he finally spoke his tone was pure sex. “Sammy, I believe she just suggested I have love handles. Do you think I have love handles?”  
  
“ _I think_ ,” Sam went for diplomatic despite the laughter that wanted to escape, “she was calling you a woman. You are definitely love handle free.”  
  
Dean grumbled for the next twenty miles.  
  
  
  
  
  
\-----  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean grabbed Sam’s duffel bag before he could even reach for it and watched his little brother lead Ope up the hill and into the house. He stood there for a minute, dry scrubbing at his hair and face. He had been so relieved when Ophelia covered her tears with a joke that he’d almost hugged her and given the game away. If he could have just a little bit more laughter before the shit really hit the fan he’d be grateful. He heard the rustle of wings and almost groaned.  
  
“What is it Cas?”  
  
If the shortening of his name affected him Castiel didn’t mention it. “I have returned without a list. I am sorry Dean, it was deemed unnecessary.” There was trouble in his tone, a slight hitch and hesitation that Dean knew all too well from questioning disturbed officers, usually displeased with procedure or superiors.  
  
“You don’t sound too happy ‘bout that. Wanna tell me why?”  
  
Dean turned and really looked at the angel, at the way his square jaw clenched and his blue eyes were slightly narrowed. “It seemed like a reasonable suggestion. I cannot understand why it would be denied.”  
  
He laid Sam’s bag down and rubbed his hands through his hair again. He needed to get it cut soon. “You told Ope not to ask about the final fight earlier. Was that your suggestion or the guys who told you no about the list?”  
  
A pause, and then Castiel looked up and met Dean’s eyes. “My superiors suggested she not ask those questions. Why?”  
  
“Ope is of the opinion, and I kinda agree, that they may not want to stop the Apocalypse. I’m already signed up, but maybe you could give me a reason to not believe that.”  
  
Castiel simply stared at him for a long time. Long enough for Dean to go through the lyrics of four Metallica songs in an effort to keep his face neutral and his hands unclenched.  
  
“That is a serious allegation.”  
  
It wasn’t a plea of innocence by a long shot, but Dean couldn’t read the angel’s expression. It was certainly more complicated than the usual bland one. “So you’re saying you don’t want the Apocalypse to happen.”  
  
“I am saying I do not want the Apocalypse to happen.” That troubled sound was there again, and before Dean could respond he turned to the sound of Sam calling his name. When he turned back Castiel was gone.  
  
“Fuck.” He picked Sam’s bag up and put his game face on. Ophelia was in the kitchen with Sam, smoking and tapping the table softly. He glanced at her once and then looked to Sam. His little brother looked tired, worn-down, but happy. Dean was glad to see it.  
  
“So Sammy, you want to go to bed or watch a movie or what?”  
  
Sam rubbed at the back of his neck for a second before looking up. “I’d like to go to bed.”  
  
Ophelia stood slowly and turned away from them. “That’s my cue to put on headphones.”  
  
  
  
  
\------  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam snuck out after Dean had fallen asleep to find Ophelia in the living room with her headset on and her computer monitor glowing. He could hear the tinny sound of the computerized voice reading the text off to her. Her fingers traced the wood of the desk in an odd pattern, and Sam leaned over her shoulder to look at the complicated sigil on the screen.  
  
She didn’t jump when he came that close to her, simply tensed for half a second and then pulled one earphone off and turned her head towards him. “Couldn’t sleep Sam?”  
  
“Had a lot on my mind. What are you looking at?”  
  
Her head half-turned to the screen, the habit as ingrained as Sam using a verb for sight. He had felt bad at the beginning, but now they both simply rolled over the slips in speech and action.  
  
“It’s supposed to be a sigil that can banish angels. I won’t know if it works until someone tries it though.”  
  
“Why are you planning on banishing angels? Isn’t Dean working for them now?”  
  
He saw her briefly bite her bottom lip, and then she smiled bright and fake. “A girl can never be too careful around dicks. Hey could you draw this? Like on a piece of paper and really hard so I can trace the outline and really get a feel for it?”  
  
Sam obliged, making sure each line was perfect before he pushed her a little harder. “Do we still not trust Castiel?”  
  
She shrugged and ran her fingers along the raised lines he’d made. “I barely trust anyone Sam. You know that. I’m surprised you don’t want to be in bed with Dean. Anything wrong?”  
  
He considered her clumsy deflection and then before he could respond a husky voice caught his attention. “Yeah Sammy, anything wrong?”  
  
Sam turned to see Dean standing in the doorway to the hall in just his boxer-briefs, the lamp beside the computer highlighting planes and angles along his nearly naked body. Sam was both annoyed and half-hard, despite their earlier activities.  
  
“No. I was just coming back to bed.” He pushed himself up and dropped a kiss on her head. There would always be time later.  
  
  
  
  
  
\------  
  
  
  
  
  
The guide ropes had been down for over a month, but Ophelia didn’t really need them anymore. She stepped cautiously along the length of the porch before she found the bench and sat in it. The night was warm, the crickets soothing, and despite the fact she wasn’t supposed to be out here alone she felt that relaxing into the bench was the only logical answer.  
  
 _Sam was suspicious_. Sam was suspicious and it would be hard not to crack underneath that. She’d argued with Dean enough about telling him. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand where he was coming from, saving Sam worry was a good thing, but lying to Sam hadn't helped much so far. Still, at the end of the day it was Dean’s decision. She had to know when to take her hands off of their lives, when to step back.  
  
She felt in her pocket to find her cigarettes and plucked out the joint before lighting it. The familiar rasp, the first lungful of smoke, and on the exhale she said, “Castiel, if you’re listening, could I speak to you?”  
  
Angels, she had found, didn’t have much in the way of a scent. Not that she’d noticed anyway, but as a smoker she was willing to admit her sense of smell wasn’t that keen. When she felt the weight though, settling on the bench beside her, she made sure not to jump away. Today Castiel had a hint of citrus, just the barest amount mixing with the smells of the summer night and her own burning marijuana.  
  
“You called for me?”  
  
That voice, still as rough as always, had the tiniest bit of tenderness. She knew from conversation that Dean believed the angel felt nothing, and maybe when he first appeared as Jimmy she would have agreed. But things had changed. Her hearing was better than her olfactory senses, hell probably the best of her senses other than touch, and she could pick up on the subtle inflections Dean missed. Castiel liked Dean, admired him a bit she was pretty sure, and that went a long way to assuaging her suspicion of him. She’d told Sam earlier she didn’t trust Castiel. It had been a lie; she just didn’t trust the angels he worked with. _Or for._  
  
“I found this thing on the internet that’s supposed to banish angels when written in blood. I was wondering if you could tell me if it's worth a damn?” She held the sheet out and waited for the tug that would let her know he’d taken it. There was silence for a while, just the sound of inhales and exhales and the crickets, and then Castiel pressed the paper back into her hand.  
  
“It is effective. Will you be using it on me?” Curiosity and concern. She took a deep drag and had a short coughing fit.  
  
Her smile was honest, and she wondered if he could see it in the dark. “I hope not. You planning on making me?”  
  
“I will follow orders because I am made to do so. You will do what you are made to do.” There was an awkward pause, and then he pushed on. “Dean does not trust me. Why do you?”  
  
 _Good question_. She licked her lips to buy herself a second, tapped her joint gently and judged how close the heat of the cherry was to her fingers. “I'm a lapsed Catholic. Too many unanswered questions, too much anger, whatever. Still, faith or no faith, here you are. I have to fucking believe that there’s at least one angel that’s on our side, because having the whole of Heaven against us is a little too much. You understand?”  
  
“Heaven is not against you Ophelia. My Father loves all-“  
  
“Stop. Cut that shit off right there.” It’s a little harsher than she wants to be with him, but it’s a sore subject for her. “There are two very nice men in that house who haven’t been shown any of that love you’re talking about. They finally get to be happy and then along comes the _Apocalypse_. You remember when you warned me earlier about asking questions?”  
  
“Yes. I remember very well.” His voice is gentle despite the rasp, comforting, and she wonders if this is a good idea or not. Although it’s never stopped her before.  
  
“I’m not asking I’m telling. Jana showed me things Castiel, things that can’t be ignored. Your superiors want this to happen, they want the battle, and Hell wants it too. You’re going to use Dean for Michael’s meat suit, and they’re going to use Sam. I’m not sure why yet, but I’ll figure it out with time. I just know that’s what’s going to happen. You have to help me stop that. If you’re even a bit sincere about wanting to protect Dean you have to help me stop it.”  
  
There’s silence again, and then blunt fingers touch her arm. It’s the first unnecessary touch he’s given her since the day he told her who he really was. She’s dimly aware that the lack of contact has something to do with Dean.  
  
“I will look into this accusation. If it is true I will do my best. Is that enough for you?”  
  
Was it? Was that enough to ensure Sam and Dean’s safety? Was that enough to stop destiny?  
  
“Jana said-she suggested-“ She falters, unsure of how to phrase it. It’s all a jumble of moving and static pictures in her head, unforgettable in their intensity. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to be together all this time. As brothers. Is that true?”  
  
There's a heavy pause here. Something unsaid that may or may not be important. Her fingers are distant and fumbling when she reaches to make sure he's still there. “Yes. Someone altered destiny. It is attempting to right itself.”  
  
The image that stuck with her the most, the one that haunted her at night when she was supposed to be sleeping came unbidden at his words. Sam with black eyes, standing over a blonde woman near an altar. Sam with the weight of the world’s blood on his hands, and Dean turning his back on him. She shook her head, chased the picture away with a memory of the two of them smiling at each other.  
  
“Well good for them. Let’s hope destiny doesn’t get its fucking way.”  
  
A hand rested on her elbow then, light and gentle. "Yes. Let us hope."  
  
  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean woke from a pleasant dream to the feel of warm suction wrapped around his cock. He didn’t need to lift the sheet to see what was causing it, but as nice as the outline of Sam through thin cotton was Dean liked the full visual better.  
  
He pulled the sheet up and saw Sam, eyes closed and lips stretched, and Dean moaned once before running his thumb along the corner of Sam’s mouth and the skin of his own shaft. Sam opened both eyes and looked up at him, amusement warring with arousal. He pulled back and licked his lips. “I thought you’d sleep through the whole thing.”  
  
“Not possible.” Sam shuddered when he spoke, and Dean’s smirk grew. “What brought this on?”  
  
Something crossed Sam’s face, some shadow, and then it was gone and Sam smiled before taking one long lick from the base of his cock to the tip. “Shut up Dean. Let me take care of you.”  
  
Dean, for once, kept his mouth shut. Sam’s tongue, his lips, those big damn hands, all of them combined to take away Dean’s ability to think, to rationalize what that look had been. By the time Sam’s lubricated fingers were working into him, scissoring him open and rubbing against his prostate, Dean had forgotten about the shadow. He’d honestly forgotten everything except for Sam.  
  
He was begging for it by the time Sam finally relented, moaning in a manner Dean associated with pornography as Sam lifted Dean up and turned him around before settling back on the bed with Dean straddling his crotch. He grabbed Sam, relished the harsh gasp, and then aimed Sam’s cock and settled himself down. There was a burn, the angle was all new for him, and then a burst of pleasure. He worked himself until Sam was fully sheathed, and then big hands grabbed his waist and moved him at a slow pace.  
  
It was Sam’s eyes that really got Dean in these moments. He liked all of it, the friction, the strength in the man underneath him, the smooth skin over hard muscles and the slick sweat, but the eyes. _Sam’s goddamn eyes_. There were no words for the way black pupils overtook hazel irises, blue flecked with the smallest amount of brown and grey and so intense it left Dean breathless with lust. Sam’s thrusts were gentle but his hands were iron as they helped Dean lift and sink.  
  
“Come on Dean-let go-for me-please-“ One of those hands released his waist, grabbed his cock, and with two long strokes Dean was jerking, back bowing as his eyes flew shut and he cried out Sam’s name. Half a dozen more pumps and Sam was coming with him. The hand still on his waist clenched so hard Dean grunted, the other pulling at the sheet beneath them, and then Dean slumped down and buried his face in Sam’s neck.  
  
He worked to get his breath back, to regulate it to something slow and steady, and when he’d achieved his goal he slid off Sam and collapsed on the mattress. “That’s a great way to wake up Sam, but it doesn’t do much for making a man want to _get_ up.”  
  
Sam nudged him once. “I’d say you were very up.”  
  
Dean laughed, linked his fingers into Sam’s for a long moment, and then used the hand to push himself vertical and really look at Sam. Tanned face flush, chest just settling fully, sweat drying on all that skin. “I believe sexual innuendos are my domain Sammy.”  
  
Sam shrugged once, grinned cockily, and winked. “I learned from the best.”

 

 

\-----

  
  


Ope was frowning at the Braille book in front of her when he found her. Sam had only been back two days, but he'd spent this one mostly in bed. He'd officially exhausted Dean beyond any point of waking, which gave him the opening he needed. "Hey Ope. Did it offend you?"  
  
"Fucking bumps Sam. I can read fucking Latin, but I can't master fucking bumps." She extinguished her cigarette and pushed the book away desultorily. "Fuck this."  
  
"Hey, listen, I was thinking about some things and I wanted your opinion." Her head tilted up and the pierced brow rose above the line of the sunglasses.  
  
"Sounds…ominous. Do I need a drink for this?"  
  
 _Maybe_. "Nope. I was just wondering about this whole Heaven and Hell thing. Like what's the endgame? What's the point?"  
  
Her lips tightened and she started to stand but Sam put one hand on her shoulder and gently led her back down. "Sammy that's not-we don't know." _Lie_.  
  
"So it's not the Apocalypse, and Dean and I aren't scheduled to fight to the death?" He watched all the color drain from her face. Watched the way she tried to regulate it and failed.  
  
"We're not discussing this." Her hands reached for her cigarettes and he moved them away. It was kind of cruel, but suddenly Sam was angry. _Very_ angry.  
  
"Why? Because I'm too young to know? We're the same age Ophelia. Is it because you guys don't trust me to make the right choice? I got in bed with demons twice, why wouldn't I do it again?"  
  
Ope had two modes when faced with anger. Sam had honestly expected the first; apologetic and concerned. He was surprised when he got the second. _Confrontational_. She pushed his hand off her shoulder and stood too fast, hip slamming into the table.  
  
"Really? Fucking really? You'd say that shit to me? After everything you'd accuse me of that?"  
  
Which left Sam with his own two modes of response. He could back down, ease tensions, or he could let himself be angry. She'd always encouraged honesty and venting.  
  
"Yeah I would. I can't see any other option, so that's all that's left. I thought you knew me better than that."  
  
Her lips jerked once and she slammed one open hand out and hit him in the ribs. "Fuck you!"  
  
"No fuck you! Fuck this whole 'Sam can't know' shit too! I've _hunted_ Ophelia. More than you ever did! I deserve to know!"  
  
He heard Dean crash into the doorway, but Ophelia didn't even twitch in that direction. "Going on a few easy pick-up hunts with Dean doesn't make you a goddamn expert _Samuel_. It makes you a novice at best, and don't fucking tell me about the life. I know the goddamn life. You want me to trust you not to make a mistake, but you don't trust me to trust you. What the fuck does that say? I have your best interests at heart Sam, and I thought I'd proven that by now!"  
  
"Selling your eyesight so that you can die without guilt doesn't prove you love me it proves you need to pass off your burden." It's low. _Way low_. The lowest blow he's ever hit her with and he regrets it instantly. He hears Dean suck in a breath, but Ophelia stands rigid and unmoving in front of him. He wants to apologize, to pluck the words out of the air, but it's too late. They've been said. He opens his mouth though to say something and she either hears it or has impeccable timing because her hand comes up and gestures for him to stop.  
  
"Don't. Say. Another fucking word to me. _Don't_." She stepped back, hit the table again and let out a primal scream of rage. "I'm done. I'm fucking done." With that she pushed past him, slammed into Dean, and then careened around the corner. He heard her bedroom door slam, and then they were left alone in the silence of the kitchen. He couldn't even look at Dean. All his earlier rage lay under a heavy blanket of guilt. The strength went out of his legs and he found himself sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.  
  
Dean stood still in the doorway, and then nodded his head despite the fact they hadn't said anything and moved forward. He knelt beside Sam. "Ok Sammy. Ok." Dean patted his shoulder and they just stayed there in silence.

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

She waited until she heard the car and then stood up and crossed the room. She could hear her own boots clunking along the tiles of the kitchen as she twisted the knob and moved. It wasn't until she reached the edge of the porch that she heard another voice, and then it was Dean.  
  
"Wanna tell me where you're going sweetheart?" He sounded concerned, but she couldn't be interested in that at the moment.  
  
There was a time when she felt like this she'd rev up one of Jeff's motorcycles and head off into the distance. Maybe climb until her arms gave out and she was dangling over the abyss with nothing left inside. That wasn't an option anymore.  
  
"Out. Old hunter friend. Safe." Each word had to be bitten off before it became more. Before she was completely exposed. She started to walk again and a hand restrained her arm. Suddenly she hated him. Hated Sam and this house and everything else. Being touched without warning, the dark all around her, and no way to know when it was coming or why. _But it's Sam_ , echoed in her raging mind.  
  
"Maybe you should talk to him. He feels awful about it."  
  
"Fuck. Off." She pushed the hand away and headed down the steps. She heard Liam's deep Southern accent call out to her and she headed straight for it. When she reached him he led her around to the passenger side and made sure she was fully in.  
  
"I'll be John Browned, you really did lose-"  
  
" _Liam_. Take me to the bar and order me as much whiskey as you think I can handle without dying. Stop talking to me."  
  
He grunted once and then the car took off. It wasn't until they were in the warmth of the bar that she relaxed even a fraction, and the shots came naturally. They didn't speak, and that was good enough for her.  
  
"Gonna hit the head." She nodded once and heard him slip across the floorboards. Then the hand touched her, lingering and overly familiar, and Ophelia felt the righteous surge of anger. _Yes_. This is what she had come for. She reached up, fast as lightning, and grabbed the fingers before twisting. She heard one snap, the high-pitched wail, and then she was arcing her arm back and slamming her elbow into the guy's ribs.  
  
There was a grunt of pain, someone called her bitch, and then extreme pressure on her chin and her head jerked to the side. She rolled with it and kicked out in the approximation of shin or knee. The buckling suggested knee, and then the hits were coming hard and fast as she struck out in blind instinct.  
  
Just as suddenly as the fight started it stopped, and Ophelia felt the familiar grasp of Castiel holding her back and the slight smell of citrus that he'd had the last time they'd spoken. There was too much cold air, and she was pretty sure they were outside. She couldn't hear the bar anymore.  
  
"They have broken your cheekbone and four of your ribs. May I fix them for you?" He sounded the same as always, and she tried not to laugh at the formality of it. Her blood was still rushing, singing, and the adrenaline felt good. Felt almost as good as the sensation of flesh yielding to her fists.  
  
"Sure man. Do whatever. I don't honestly give a fuck."  
  
"You are very angry. May I ask why?" She bit her lip for a second and then felt in her pockets until she found her cigarettes. Lit one and then pushed at her hair while she considered the question.  
  
"Because I'm a bitch. Getting angry is what I do. Where the hell are we?"  
  
"I brought you to your home. Dean and Sam were very concerned about you, and I am here to collect Dean for a Seal. He refused to leave without knowing of your safety." He sounded logical and calm, and for half a second she wondered if he looked anything like Spock.  
  
"You keep doing shit like that and Dean might like you someday. Hey, Cas, can I ask you something?" She waits and when the silence just stretches out she takes it as a yes. _Yep, still drunk_. "Do you really like anything?"  
  
"I am not made for feeling. I am made for following orders." And was that regret? Sadness? She wasn't entirely sure.  
  
"You know I used to pray. All the fucking time. Useless, but it was habit."  
  
"Prayer is never useless. I am sure my Father heard every one."  
  
"I didn't pray to your father. I prayed to-" She heard a noise and turned her head that way, realized it was Dean calling her name and lost the thread of the conversation. Instead she held her arm out and swallowed her pride. "Take me in?"  
  
"Of course." He led her gently, and then Dean's rough hands were pulling her in and tilting her face.  
  
"That son of a bitch that went with you just called. Said you got into some kind of bar brawl with three guys and he missed it." _Three_? Well that's news. Dean doesn't ask why, and she's grateful he can understand.  
  
"Cas fixed me up. Did I do some damage?"  
  
Dean grunts in response and then speaks over her head. "Thanks man. A lot. I'll roll out tomorrow morning."  
  
She misses what Cas says next, because the world is rushing out from under her feet and she's wrapped in the smell of Sam. The sound of him mumbling apologies in her ear and pressing kisses to her temple. It's been a long time since they had an argument that sent her looking for violence, and Sam apparently remembers the last time too well.  
  
So Ophelia lets him apologize, accepts, because it's _Sam_ and that's the way it is. But she insists he goes with Dean for the Seal. Says she'll call Gabe. It's going to take a while for the impotent rage to really pass.

  
  
  


\---

 

 

She dreams that night, and in the dream she's naked and face-down in her own bed with her hands crossed at the wrists behind her back and Gabriel hovering over her body. She can feel the heat of his erection brushing silky against her skin, but there's something off and she's not sure what it is. The room shifts with shadows as if the light is coming from a flickering fire instead of a steady electric bulb. She feels silky rope wrapping around her wrists and she stays completely still and lets him. She's done this before. She spent a good deal of time with a guy who was so into BDSM he honestly thought it would cure her of her genetic condition. That CIP was simply a mental illness that could be broken with the _right kind_ of pain. She left him after a few sessions, because honestly that kind of pressure isn't very sexy. She feels lips touch her fingers briefly, and then when Gabe breaks the silence he sounds wrong. Some weird approximation of her subconscious that mixes the serious tone he had that first night and the fire she thinks is lighting the room.  
  
"This wasn't supposed to happen. I took my eye off the ball for ten seconds and you humans managed to mess everything up. To give Destiny the upper-hand _again_."  
  
She shudders at the tone and goes to respond, but a hand slips over her lips and stops her.  
  
"I'm going to teach you a lesson sweets. Would you like to learn a lesson?" It's only a question in the strictest most semantic sense, but she nods anyway as if that matters. Which is when the cold steel of a knife presses against her throat. "You gotta show me you wanna live Opey. Show me so I believe it. Show me you're not a puppet."  
  
This isn't…she waits for a second but the knife doesn't go away, and the hand on her mouth falls to the side and presses against her back in a way that is predatory and cold. So she goes limp, and something in him deflates. The knife wavers, moves, and then her head is snapping back and the crown of her skull hits his face with as much force as she can muster in this position. She hears the crack of his nose and feels the warm gush of blood against her scalp before she's rolling away and kicking out. Her foot connects with his hip, he gives a grunt of pain, and then she's running. Running through the house at top speed with her hands behind her and her fingers clenching and unclenching in an effort to loosen the ropes.  
  
She can hear him behind her, calling her name, but she doesn't stop. This is suddenly about survival, and Ophelia realizes she really does want to live.  
  
Then the house is gone, and Sam's in her face as she's reclined and apparently thrashing. He has one hand restraining her wrists and the other stroking her cheek as he says her name over and over again. His face is fuzzy, only half there, but she can _see_ the floppy hair she's been touching, longer than before the ritual and the thickening sideburns. There's light outlining his head and it's so bright it only intensifies that out of focus look he has. But she _sees_ him, and for a moment she can't catch her breath. Can't seem to find words. Instead she listens to him soothing as she soaks in every detail she can make come into focus. Then she leans up and places her lips against the corner of his. It takes Sam a second to realize it's an aimed kiss instead of an accident.  
  
Dean comes running in when Sam starts shouting, but she's up and being crushed into a bear hug as he swings her around and practically dances. Dean's just as out of focus, it's apparently going to take time for perfect vision, but she's pretty sure his eyes are wet. She doesn't mention it though, because she's also fairly sure the intensifying fuzziness is due to her eyes being wet as well.

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

He can't get over the way Sam is staring at her like she's just been born. Which is why he misses the signs at first. He knew what last night meant, and it wasn't surprising. She'd been building up to that sort of blow-up for a while, but he was pretty sure the return of her eyesight had signaled the storm blowing over. _Apparently not_.  
  
"What the hell do you mean Gabriel is still coming? I don't need a fucking babysitter."  
  
Sam's smile never wavers. Instead he holds his hand up and tilts his head. "How many Ope?"  
  
She squints, frowns, and then nods determinedly. "Four." It's two, and she makes a sound of disgust. "Unfair."  
  
"You can see again." Something about Sam's tone, the wonder or the fear, makes her soften, and then he's hugging her again and she's making an exasperatedly fond face over his shoulder at Dean as she's shaken like a rag doll in his little brother's grasp.  
  
"Yes Sammy. Just not too well yet, but yes. Getting hard to breathe." Sam put her down like she was made of glass and she stuck her scarred tongue out at him cheekily and then started laughing. _Anger dissipated_ , and Dean was glad. Very glad, because Sam had been just about destroyed last night. He didn't particularly care for seeing Sam that way. When the knock came Dean crossed the room and got the door, and Gabriel leaned past him instantly with that same broad smirk.  
  
"How's Miss Magoo?" She threw the pepper shaker at him with surprising accuracy and he let out a whooping cry and pulled her up. "Look at that. Just temporary after all. You got lucky sweets."  
  
For half a second Dean's sure she shudders when the guy speaks in her ear, but it's gone and she has that careful smile he knows all too well on her face.  
  
"Shut up. Idiot." She pressed her face so briefly against the spot under his ear Dean was pretty sure he was the only one who noticed. "Now put me down. What is it? National Manhandle Ope day? Fucking weirdos."  
  
Just for kicks after Gabriel puts her down Dean swings her around. Her squeal makes Sam laugh, and then her particularly well-placed shin kick has him putting her down and laughing too. So they leave on an up-note, and Dean's glad. The car ride isn't as heavy as it could be, and they make good time on their way to the Seal Castiel told them about in Connecticut. It's going to be a close thing, but every time Dean looks over into the passenger side of the Impala Sam is there. Legs tucked up slightly, because honestly _no_ car is made for someone his size, but face relaxed as he soaks in the scenery and listens to Dean's stereo. Every now and then Sam pushes his hair back out of his face, and the light catches the glints in his eyes just right, or the deep dimples when he smiles. Dean thinks he's beautiful, and he's not so proud of that fact that he shares it, but he's not so ashamed of it that he squashes it down mentally either. Instead he simply soaks it all in and lets the car take them forward into the future.  
  
The one they're facing together.


	25. Chapter 25

Sam balances hunting and work as best he can. It helps that a lot of what he does can be done over remote access and the phone. It hurts that apparently part of his hiring was his boss thinking he'd be good with people in person. Sam deals with the man's disappointment, and then he doesn't. He's not surprised when he quits. It's boring work. Nothing like the rush of coding for Gabriel, or the terrifying completeness he feels traveling with Dean. It takes his brother three weeks on the road to figure out that Sam is only using his laptop for research and Skyping with Ope.

  
It's been two months since her eyesight came back, and while it's still not great it gets progressively better. Sam's pretty sure she can make out full facial features most of the time, but her eyes tire quickly, and light is still a big factor. He wonders how many headaches she'd have if she actually experienced eye strain. As a result she's been consulting at her shop and consulting with Dean and Sam, but she hasn't been allowed to take the reigns on anything. It makes several of their conversations terse and unpleasant, but Sam's so damn happy to have her seeing again he couldn't care less.  
  
In the meantime they've been sent after seven different Seals, and they've only successfully stopped the breaking of three of those. Dean is tense, unhappy, and Sam works hard to make that less true, but it's fairly touch and go. Castiel gets tighter with every visit, more robotic, and Sam struggles to remain civil to the angel despite their history and how little he trusts the guy. He doesn't call on Meg. He's still angry. Angry that Dean and Ope thought he needed the truth kept from him, angry that the universe is so dead set against himself and Dean, just generally angry. He bites it back through, because there's not a lot that can be done. They have to cruise along until they come up with an answer, a solution to losing Seal after Seal in what is beginning to seem like a pathetic attempt to stop a tidal wave. A fucking _tsunami_.  
  
The only time he sees the old Dean, the Dean he fell in love with, is when they squeeze in little hunts in between traveling from one disaster to another. It's the only time they taste victory. Most nights they simply fall asleep exhausted in bed beside on another, but after those hunts they often find themselves together, twisted up and sweating. Some nights Sam is pressed against the slippery wall of the shower, some nights Dean is twisted halfway around grabbing the headboard and grunting his name. They don't need more than this, and Sam is so grateful to have it that it hurts. They fight. Sam's only ever really co-existed with Ophelia. Every other living arrangement he's experienced was all about survival, and learning Dean's eccentricities is harder than Sam imagined it would be. Being well-rested becomes a treat, and he learns that without coffee in the morning Dean is a bear. Learns that as OCD as Dean is about gun storage and caring for his weapons he often leaves clothes strewn about the motel rooms, and he's willing to let take-out sit in the little mini-fridges until it grows hair. More disgustingly he'll still consider eating it sometimes. Dean flirts with waitresses, bar maids, practically anything, and Sam feels jealous at times. That's mitigated by the fact that no matter how many times Dean says _sweetheart_ or _darling_ it's Sam that his eyes glitter at. Sam that goes to bed with him that night.  
  
Then they lose another Seal, and Dean drinks himself into a raging stupor. He's half on the bed and half on the floor, fingers flying as he gestures angrily and bitches about the loss of life, the loss of hope, and how he's failing at all of it. Sam listens, grits his teeth, and the next day he makes the call. He plans it out though. Knows what he has to do.  
  
She arrives just as he remembers her. Sam's been around the life enough now to be able to pick up what he needs from the internet to get ahold of her, and sitting across from her in the empty storeroom he studies the way her short blond hair hangs around her face, how she could just be another pretty girl if he didn't know the ugly truth. He thinks of Ruby then for the first time in a long time, and who Ruby must have been before she was taken over. Thinks of a world full of pretty co-eds and innocent people that are all in danger and don't know it. Have no idea how close they are to the brink.  
  
"I'm really glad you called Sam. Seriously, it's good to know at least one Winchester knows when they need help."  
  
He ignores the tone and leans back against the wall behind him. "What do I need to do?"  
  
Meg sits on the floor and folds her legs up, smile easy and gentle as she studies him back. "You guys have been going about this all wrong. You can't stop the Seals from breaking, but you can stop the one _breaking_ them. You need to go after Lilith. She's a player, big time, and she's got a following. She's the one leading the movement to break Lucifer out of his cage, and if you can kill her the Seals will stop. I've got others Sam, demons that don't want Lucifer out, and they'll help clear out her followers. You have to kill her first though."  
  
Sam nods thoughtfully, licks his lower lip, and considers that. "So I just need to track down Lilith and kill her. How do I do that?"  
  
"You _know_ how. Brady taught you, even if that wasn't why he was teaching it to you. All you have to do is call on those powers of yours. And I can tell you where she'll be. When the shit really hits the fan Lilith will be going to St. Mary's Convent. It's the site of the last Seal."  
  
There's a wave of cold nausea, fear mixed in with anger, and Sam suddenly isn't sure how his voice stays so steady. He's stronger now than he's ever been, but thinking of himself during that terrible year is still hard. "I can't do that anymore. I lost the ability." Except that isn't true. He's been having the dreams after all. If those are back, then why wouldn't the rest of it be back too?  
  
"Well a part of that may be not practicing, and a part of it may be cutting yourself off from the source." She hesitates briefly, and while Sam knows she wants to look apologetic he sees only eagerness. "Maybe you just need a boost?"  
  
It's _hard_. So hard, because the minute she says it Sam can taste it again. Bitter and salty, warmth flooding into his mouth, and he can feel the rush of adrenaline and power every time it slid past his lips. Can remember the cold and hard look in Brady's eyes, something akin to pride and joy that Sam never saw in the demon any other time. "No." He swallows reflexively, but the taste lingers. "No I won't do that again. I'll kill Lilith, but I won't drink anymore demon blood."  
  
Meg simply nods, lips pursed, and Sam knows she doesn't believe him. Why should she? "Ok. That's fine Sam, but you may need the juice when the big day comes. So should we test to see if you can still do it? If you remember the moves at least?"  
  
Sam nods once and licks his lips again. The memory of the taste is still present, but he expected temptation. Expected this to be difficult. "Yeah. We should test that." He pushes up from the cold cement floor and watches her do the same.  
  
"I'm so glad you agreed to this Sam. It's really good to know you didn't inherit the pig-headed genes." Her grin is broad and simple, but Sam knows that her kind are never simple. That there is something dark and complex brewing underneath that happy mask she's wearing. "Your brother wouldn't be this smart."  
  
He laughs once, softly, and then gestures upwards and she finally looks and sees the devil's trap on the ceiling. Her eyes narrow and Sam shrugs once in something that is certainly not an apology. "Actually, he'd probably be smarter about it."  
  
It takes a long time. There's a lot of screaming and cursing, and the body doesn't make it. Still, just like riding a bike Sam eventually remembers how to do it. Where to reach inside himself to find the power, how to push it out and use it, and when it's over he buries the girl that may or may not have once been called Meg and goes back to the motel room where Dean is. His brother is infinitely grateful that Sam remembered to get extra coleslaw with his ribs.

  
  
  
  
  


\-----

  
  


 

 

Ophelia did three hours on Rick's back piece today. Needle clusters doing their work, ink blending smoothly, and Rick spilling all of his troubles under the cathartic mixture of pain and sensation. It's just like any other day, but it's special because she thought she'd never have it again. She's fairly certain there is not a single thing that could bring her down. Not even Gabriel driving her home and hovering like some sort of mother hen while her vision blurs in and out rhythmically against her will. She had to stare very close towards the end, but Tommy confirmed that the work was her usual high standard. Rick had been good enough to wait for her, and now she's not going to let him down. Not going to let herself down either. She squints at the dish in front of her for a bit and then looks up to see Gabe's smirk come into focus for a second before it slides back into hazy indistinct colors.  
  
"One day you're going to have to explain how you can just whip this awesome shit up."  
  
"I've lived alone a long time sweets. A bachelor must know how to care for himself." The motion of his head suggests that he's winking, and she's pretty sure that's a good thing. Then the phone rings, and she pulls it out and answers. She can't see well enough to find the speakerphone button, but the hacker reads her mind and hits it for her so she can devour the buttery filet and mushrooms in front of her while she talks.  
  
"Go for Opey." Fingers stroke her thigh and she just knows her grin is dopey is stupid.  
  
" _Hey Ope. How goes it?"_ Dean's voice is tired, strained, and she feels the smile slip off her face. Gabe's fingers tighten once and then release and disappear. Suddenly, getting excited over the tattoo seems stupid.  
  
"All fine on the homefront. How're you two? Fucking like rabbits?" It's weak, but she hears Dean chuckle softly. She can be as offensive as he needs her to be. There's no doubt Sam is overwhelming him with comfort and concern.  
  
" _One day I'm gonna wash your mouth out with soap. We're ok. Sam's been wearing out his welcome at the libraries in every town we go in, but otherwise it's all good."_ Pregnant pause, and Gabriel reminds her none too gently she's ignoring his meal. She takes a bite and chews it without tasting the flavor. " _I just wish we weren't flying so blind._ _We still don't know what Seals are coming up, Castiel is getting bitchier about Halloween. I think it's gonna be a thing. Who knew the guy's asshole could clench tighter?"_  
  
Gabe chuckles with her and then she leans in to the phone. "I actually-well man it's not a great one. But I had an idea." She hears Dean tighten up, feels Gabe's hand go back to her thigh with a warning squeeze.  
  
" _No more summoning sweetheart. We talked about this._ "  
  
That's a generous way for him to describe ordering her not to do anything else that would put her in danger, but she lets it go because this isn't about _that_. "No, no more of that. Your dad's journal talks about the asshat psychic, but doesn't say much about that prophecy right? Well if that's tied into the Apocalypse it could matter. I figure the guy didn't get that shit on his own. He must have gotten it from a higher authority. So I was thinking maybe I could go talk to him. Find out who, or what, told him Sam needed to be dropped and _why_. What do you think?"  
  
There's silence for a long time, and her vision swims into focus long enough to see a tightness to Gabe's face that doesn't make much sense at all." _That's not a bad idea Ope. I could head that way after we-"_  
  
"No I was thinking _I_ could go Dean. As in, Ophelia exits the house and enters the car before driving to Whereversville and prying info out of said psychic." Gabriel's hand lands on her elbow but she shakes her head in his direction. "Because it's just driving to a place and talking to some guy. Which is not dangerous at all. So I can fucking do it."  
  
" _You'd have to drive a lot of miles. Your eyes won't really do well with that. Plus we have no idea if this guy is even still around or-"_  
  
"I can take Gabe. All he does is eat my groceries and watch TV anyway, so this will be good for him. It needs to be done Dean, and you and Sam are knee deep in shit out there. Let me help. _Please_." It hurts to say the last word. Hurts a lot, because she's got her pride, but it needs to be said. It's her only chance at being even slightly helpful. There's silence again, and then she hears Dean's throat clear.  
  
" _His name is Salvadore Vieggi. He's in Tulsa, Oklahoma. We'll meet you there after Halloween. Don't do anything dangerous you got me?"_  
  
Gabriel speaks for the first time, and he sounds overly casual. "I wouldn't let her. Good night Dean-o." Then he's hitting the button and grabbing at her arms. "Ok Opey It's time for us to have a little talk about expectations."  
  
And here it comes. It had to happen eventually, because she has gotten way overly familiar and more than a little dependent on the guy being around to dig her out of pits that he has no part in and are definitely not his problem. She's waiting for the inevitable talk, the one that came when Alan realized that she wasn't going to be dumping Sam and his issues anytime soon. That fucking him came second. She'd been weary when Alan hit that point. Right now she's terrified.  
  
She huffs a laugh instead. "Dude, I just said you'd go so he'd quit being weird about it. I know you got a life and shit to do. Hell, you've sort of outstayed your welcome anyway." The silver blur that was her fork was easy to find and she speared a slice of meat and took a bite. "No matter how good your cooking is."  
  
There's silence for a bit, and he's too blurry to make out. Which is why the moving flesh colored blob that resolves itself to be his hand taking the fork from her and lifting her up in one smooth movement surprises her. She lets out a bark of unhappiness, but Gabriel is having none of it. She's plopped onto her bed and then he's kneeling in front of her, and her fickle vision clears just enough to give her a good view of his face.  
  
"If you had no restrictions, no disease, an infinite amount of money, and no responsibilities Ophelia what would you be doing right now? Where would you be?" He's serious. Deadly serious, and that kind of gives her pause.  
  
"Eating that delicious meal you made?" He shakes her once and all the awkward humor bleeds its way out. This is something big, something _defining_ , and she's not sure what or why but it would only take a gesture to fuck it up beyond all chances of being repaired. "I would be-Gabriel _why_?"  
  
"Because I have to know there's more to you than just Sam. If he was fine, and he didn't need you all the time, what would you do?"  
  
She's never thought about it. In the all the years since she met Sam it's never occurred to her what she'd do if he didn't need her anymore. Despite that though, the answer trips off her tongue and leaves her shaking internally and fully fucking exposed. "You. I would be here and do this with you."  
  
Gabe's eyes go soft, liquid amber with golden highlights, and his lips press once against hers firmly before he pulls away and buries his face in her throat. "I've been lying to you."  
  
"I know." Her fingers find his chin, eyes still clear but probably not for long, and she tilts his head up so she can see him fully. "You and Sam are some kind of computer criminals. I figured it out. I don't mind a little criminality."  
  
Those lips go tight and then curl upwards in the familiar smirk. "Well you are a huge pothead." He takes the punch with a laugh and then kisses her again. "So wanna make out with me?"  
  
"No. I want to finish my fucking dinner. That shit is delicious."

  
  
  
  


\-----

  
  
  
  


Dean doesn't miss the way Sam's mouth tightens in that prudish little way when he tells him that Ophelia is traveling. In the last few weeks things between them have been uncommonly strained, and Dean isn't sure why. Sam's nightly forays to the library are starting to make Dean crazy, because Sam comes back from them either pissed off, suffering from a righteous headache, or both. Maybe the kid needs glasses, or maybe it's his period. Dean's just not sure.  
  
It _could_ be the fact that if Dean's countdown is right there aren't a lot of Seals left. It _should_ be that, but Dean gets the feeling it isn't.  
  
Tonight though, tonight they're arguing about the wisdom of Ophelia traveling across country with Gabriel to find out about their father's crazy fucking decision, and what split them up as children. Which Dean, honestly, thinks is _sort_ of fucking important.  
  
"What if it's a trap? Or the guy is evil? Ophelia can only half-see and Gabriel only knows how to kill things on video games Dean! It's too dangerous!" Sam fumbles for his phone and Dean grabs it first.  
  
"The guy is just some psychic, and Ope is getting better. She's going to be fine. What I wanna know is what's crawled up your ass and died Sammy." Sam gives him an ugly look and Dean points a finger. "I mean it. I want to know why you're-"  
  
He's cut off by the sound of wings fluttering. "Dean, Samuel, we have a problem with a Seal."  
  
Well _of fucking course they do_. "Cas can this wait, like just three or four minutes? I have a-"  
  
"What Seal?" Sam's face says that he couldn't have timed this better, and Dean briefly considers shouting at both of them before he gives in. He wanted Sam to be more Winchester-like after all. He's just getting what he asked for.  
  
"A demon is being brought back. A powerful one named Samhain. If you cannot stop his raising I will be forced to allow Uriel to destroy the town."  
  
There's a beat where Dean watches Sam absorbing that and then the enormity of it hits him. "That would be quite an evacuation you'd have to-you're not nodding. Why aren't you nodding?"  
  
"Evacuation was not part of our plan."  
  
The click in Sam's swallow is the only sound before Dean is up and on his feet. "Are you fucking kidding me? You'd kill a whole town of _people_. Like that. No problems?" Castiel doesn't flinch when Dean snaps his fingers millimeters from the angel's nose.  
  
"To stop this demon being brought back I would do whatever is necessary Dean. I have already fought Uriel for the right to allow you to have a chance. Do not let me down."

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

Gabriel isn't worried that the psychic will know who he is. The little angel didn't recognize him, and that's the way he wants it to stay. Much as it drove him crazy to let them take Ophelia he couldn't get involved. Flexing _any_ power where Heaven can identify him is out of the question. Instead he watches Ophelia shave her legs in the little motel bathroom with one eye squinted against the smoke of the cigarette tucked in the corner of her mouth.  
  
"Is that smart?"  
  
She doesn't even spare him a glare. Instead her hand moves smoothly along the line of her muscled calf, and he considers briefly licking that skin before he remembers that she's wielding a sharp object. Which is funny, because she can't hurt him but she doesn't know that.  
  
"I've been shaving my own legs since I was thirteen. I think I can handle it ass." She finishes the left leg and lowers it. Lifts the right and gives it a stroke that is all tease and no necessity. "Plus, I wouldn't let those ham hands wield a sharp object near my delicate flesh if you fucking paid me."  
  
He promised himself sometime after the first or second time she surprised him he'd stop reading her mind. That he liked the surprises. Gabriel regrets that decision right now, because it's that very choice that has them in Oklahoma getting ready to find out who is responsible for changing destiny and splitting the Winchester brothers apart. Gabriel isn't looking forward to this. She finishes and slides the short skirt up before buckling it shut. Her hands are ruthlessly efficient, and he wonders if that's rote memorization or if her sight is working right now. He'll have to completely fix it some day soon. Damn Jana...  
  
"You weren't complaining about my dexterity an hour ago. If I remember correctly it went something like, 'Oh fuck Gabriel you are the best lover I have ever had and I am ruined for all other men. Please continue to pleasure me beyond all rational sense and let me-'" He dodges the shaving cream can nimbly and grins when she slams into him.  
  
"Shut the fuck up. Horndog." She licks the seam of his lips and then pulls away and drags a sweater over her head. "Keep it up and I'll bone the psychic just to annoy you."  
  
Gabriel doubts that, but he lets it go anyway. Salvadore Vieggi has moved out of the city into a smaller outlying town called Broken Arrow, and it's not hard to find his new house. They cross the dying grass and Ophelia pounds on the flaking door without a moment's hesitation. He likes that about her too, how forceful she can be. It gives him an odd hope that one day she could live up to being more than what was once planned for her. Father knows he's always been fond of breaking away from the Plan.  
  
The psychic answers the door slowly. He's haggard looking, tired, and too thin. It occurs to Gabriel that people with real gifts wouldn't make much money in this business. News is typically bad, and humans rarely enjoy the truth. There's a moment where it seems the man will get grumpy, and then his eyes travel the valley of Ophelia's breasts and he pauses and smoothes out his scowl. "How can I help you?"  
  
"I don't have an appointment, but I'd like a reading. Think you can handle that?" There's an edge to her tone, teasing and flirtatious but darkly so. Gabriel reads the emotions that flicker through the man too quickly for her to follow and knows that he's turned on and frightened at the same time. The second thing fuels the first.  
  
"Yes I believe I can. Come on in ma'am." He steps aside and she rubs against him purposefully as she crosses the threshold. Gabriel follows her without Vieggi, and they end up in a shabby room full of fake trinkets at a table with a giant crystal ball Gabriel knows was made in China. He doesn't say anything as they take their spot at the table, and she extends one small hand and waits for the psychic to take it.  
  
This isn't a good idea. He knows the minute Vieggi reaches out and touches her he'll know something is wrong. She can't play this game, but Gabriel doesn't warn her. He can't afford to draw any more attention to himself than he already is. The psychic takes her palm and strokes the lines once before he begins to frown.  
  
"You are-this is-" He looks up and meets her eyes before sucking in a harsh breath. "You should not be here."  
  
He sees the second she recognizes the man's ability, and her face goes hard instantly. "I have questions. You're going to answer them."  
  
"You don't have questions. You're a toy. Toys don't get to ask questions." Salvadore's words are softened by how apologetic he sounds, but Ophelia's whole body goes taut in a second. Gabriel expects her to begin shouting, but she's good at surprising him. He didn't see her conceal the gun, but he does see her pull it.  
  
"Well this toy has accessories, and mine just happens to be loaded with hollow points asshole so maybe I get questions today. Feeling talkative yet, or should I blow out one of your fucking kneecaps?" Her blue eyes are cold, hard, but Gabriel can see that she's not sure where her aim is at. Salvadore is too intimidated by the weapon to notice.  
  
"Ask."  
  
"Years ago you told a man named John Winchester about a prophecy, and in the process you gave him some hard advice. I want to know who told you the prophecy, what it was, and why you thought it was ok to tell a man to abandon his baby son." Her finger slips the safety off and Salvadore swallows thickly.  
  
"The boy wasn't his son anymore. He was tainted with demon blood, and is going to be the world's downfall. I told Winchester that the only way to save himself and his older boy was to kill the younger one not abandon him. I got the prophecy from a higher source."  
  
Ophelia is up, eyes burning and gun barrel pressed tightly against the psychic's cheek. Her mouth is curled into a snarl. "Who told you to tell him that? Who told you to have the baby killed?"  
  
"The messenger. _God's messenger_." Gabriel sees the way her hand shakes. He closes his eyes for a moment and then reopens them to see that she's still not under control.  
  
"What messenger motherfucker? This is not the time for dramatic tension."  
  
"Gabriel. The archangel Gabriel told me the boy was dangerous. That they had to be split apart, and the boy given to another hunter. I knew the only way to be sure was for Winchester to kill the little monster." The psychic swallowed and then looked up at her again. "But you knew some of that already. What you don't know is that you're just a pawn here. You're not supposed to be here you're supposed to be waiting to die, and it won't be long before you are gone. You'll die heartless and alone just like a toy is supposed to."  
  
He expects her to push harder, to demand to know what all of that means, but she pulls the gun back and re-engages the safety. It's tucked back into the holster on her thigh, and then she's turning and reaching for him because he can clearly see the exit. They take one step before she turns around and slams her fist into the psychic's face. "That baby is worth a thousand of you motherfucker. I'd suggest you move again and this time don't resurface. Next time I see you I'll blow your fucking head open." She sounds vicious, feral, and Salvadore shakes visibly.  
  
The ride back to the motel is silent and tense. Gabriel doesn't try to break it, and he doesn't try to lighten it. She knows half of the truth now. Just not the half that would be useful to her. When they reach the motel room she slips all her clothes off and slides into the bed without talking. He joins her and finds her body tight and hard. He pulls her into his grasp though and waits for a moment before he can't hold it in anymore. "Why didn't you ask what he meant? About you being a pawn and a toy?"  
  
Her laughter is jagged and harsh. "I don't give two fucks what he thinks I am. Heaven wants me to dance? They better come down and teach me the fucking beat." Her body is shaking hard in his arms, but her tone is hard and deadly. _It's good_. He presses his lips against her neck and then she surprises him one more time. "Good for him."  
  
"Good for who sweets?"  
  
"Your namesake. At least there's one winged asshole willing to do something to save us. Even if he picked the wrong fucking mouthpiece."  
  
Well that's… _nice_ but not necessarily true. The winged asshole in question did it on a lark, and then dropped the ball so many times he may as well not have done anything at all. Because the winged asshole in question didn't know about Destiny tucking a little girl off to the side and waiting to activate her _just in case_. The winged asshole didn't know that said little girl would grow up into a foul-mouthed woman who had the strange ability to make him keep coming back, to make him maybe care a little, and that she would do all that while tilting full force into death _all the fucking time_. Now said winged asshole is watching Destiny reassert itself while trying desperately to stay on the sidelines.  
  
He buries his face into her hair and takes a deep breath. Tries to remind himself that he has to be nothing but an observer. It's not working too well.

 

 

\-----

  
  


Dean stands in the cold stone doorway and simply looks at Sam. Sam, his lover, his brother, is standing over the collapsed body of Samhain's vessel. His little brother's eyes are just losing that black color, but the little grin is still there. The one that is freezing Dean's blood and holding his legs into a locked position as he simply stares. Which is why when Sam finally looks up and his eyes meet Dean's there's no way for Dean to hide his feelings. Sam sees all of it written plain and clear on his face. Concern, fear, anger, _disgust_ , and without a doubt love buried underneath all of it. Sam's smile collapses, becomes a cry, and then Dean is catching his brother and holding him up.  
  
All the pieces fall into place after that. Dean carries Sam back to the Impala, loads him into the backseat, and then drives them to the motel. Sam doesn't wake for him packing, or for check-out, and Dean doesn't try to wake him. Because he _knows_ now, and that changes everything. Sam's moods, his headaches, all of it fits in this new context and Dean _gets it_. This is what his little brother has been up to. Dean, fool that he is, had bought that library line so easily because despite Sam's constantly voiced fears of falling back into old habits Dean believed Sam wouldn't. Had faith that this was one thing they could avoid.  
  
Now he has to admit to himself he has no idea what to do. No clue how to handle Sam backsliding and using the powers he was so afraid of. The better question is how much demon blood Sammy has needed to do these things. Or maybe where he's getting it. Sam sleeps through the rustle of wings, and Dean only jumps a little when Castiel appears in the passenger seat beside him. A childish voice growls that it's _Sam's spot_ , but Dean buries it as soon as it rears its head.  
  
"So we failed." Dean doesn't sugarcoat it. He expects Castiel will at least appreciate that.  
  
"You saved the town." Dean almost chokes on his own spit at that. Too surprised by both the words, and Castiel's tone to control his own surprise. The angel is…comforting him? At least that's what it sounds like.  
  
"Uriel must be laughing his fucking head off."  
  
"Actually he is terribly angry. I am not sure why you would think amusement would be his response. It does not matter. I have learned about your capabilities as a leader, and I am pleased with your interest in saving lives. It is my judgment that matters at the moment."  
  
Dean taps the steering wheel for a little bit before he glances over. The angel's blue eyes are locked on him, and Dean is reminded again that the guy has no idea what personal space, or inappropriate staring lengths are. "How many Seals have we lost Cas? Seriously. We're not making any progress at all. I can feel it slipping past me man. I can feel us losing and it's making me a little fucking nuts."  
  
"But what is really concerning you is Sam and his abilities." Dean manages to not jerk the wheel, but he does look over. "It should be concerning you Dean. It should concern you a great deal. You must not let your brother continue on this path. Do you understand me?"  
  
"I-uh yeah. Yeah. But Cas what-"  
  
"We did not have this conversation." Fingers brush his elbow once and then Castiel is gone and it's just Dean and his unconscious brother. He doesn't know what to do. Sam wakes up outside of Oklahoma, and Dean reaches back and brushes his fingers against Sam's hair in a suddenly urgent need to confirm that Sam is _Sam_ again and not the black-eyed monster he saw standing in the crypt. The touch isn't enough, and Sam makes a strangled noise Dean can't stand. So he pulls the car over into a field, parks, and then climbs in the backseat.  
  
It's reminiscent of the night with the werewolf as Dean pulls Sam's pants halfway down and then swallows him whole. Sam's making these garbled pleas, fingers tangled in his hair, and Dean just keeps moving his mouth, licking and sucking until Sam is hard and throbbing in his mouth. It doesn't take long for his brother to spill over his tongue, and Sam grips his hair painfully tight when he does, but he tastes right. Tastes like Sam. When Dean comes up for air Sam is crying, and he lets him lick his own cum out of his mouth before they sit in the backseat clinging to each other and trembling. Sam apologizes at some point, but Dean just wants to go back in time and see what was happening so he could stop it. Instead he's here, he's lost control of it, and now he has no idea what to do with his little brother other than hold him close and try to fix what's been broken.

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

He knows within seconds that something is wrong. Can see it in every line of Ophelia's face, and the way she holds herself too tightly as she laughs with Sam. He doesn't know what to do. She's the best one to explain to him the detoxing process and what to expect, but she doesn't look like she can take any more pressure right now. An ungracious voice that seems to have permanently taken residence in his brain reminds him that she was made to care for Sam, and Sam needs caring for. He's ashamed to admit he wants to listen to it.  
  
Sam, for his part, fakes being alright so well it gives Dean the chills. Gabe doesn't buy it, incredulity written into his smiles, but Ope is squinting at them and only half there.  
  
"So what did you find out?" Sam takes the chair beside her and rubs her shoulder when he asks, and she leans into the touch.  
  
"Well, one I have poor impulse control. We may want to leave Oklahoma in case Vieggi calls the fucking cops." She pushes hair out of her face and bites a lip before she fumbles for Sam's hand. "And two, we have an ally. Maybe. Or an enemy I'm not sure."  
  
Sam's eyes are traveling over her bruised knuckles, and Dean sees his indecision before Sam strokes them once and leans back. "So he did get it from someone else? Who was it?"  
  
"The archangel Gabriel. Or so he said." Gabe's face is halfway to serious now, smile slipping away fast. "But that seems sorta unlikely."  
  
"We don't know that." Ope looks offended, and Dean doesn't miss the way the hacker's brows rise or the brief flash of _something_ in his eyes. "It could be. Vieggi said the archangel wanted to derail Destiny, and I believe him. He didn't know shit until he touched my hand. He couldn't have gotten Sam's future without touching Sam. So I believe he got the info and I have to take his word that whatever gave it to him was the archangel. This is good Gabe. A fucking _archangel_ on our side. We could-"  
  
Dean gives voice to what Gabe is obviously thinking. "Sweetheart if he was on our side wouldn't he have done something by now? We got both sides breathing down our necks, Ruby came after Sam, and he hasn't popped up to try to help. I'm pretty sure if he was interested in helping he would've stepped in by now."  
  
She looks to Sam, hope plain on her face, and Sam's repsonse is hesitant and unsure. "Maybe…maybe he doesn't know? Ope called those two goddesses. I bet she could call down an archangel. Or Castiel might know? There has to be a way to find out."  
  
Gabe's face is tight. It never fails to surprise Dean, and he's seen it so rarely that it catches him off-guard now in a new and frightening way. "No. Absolutely not. I'm taking her back to Maine and there will be no summoning of archangels."  
  
Ope's up then, one finger pointed to Gabriel and a hand on Sam's arm. "Fuck that and fuck you. I'll do whatever-"  
  
" _I said no_." For a second, one terribly confusing second, Dean is afraid of the little hacker. The room is deathly silent in the wake of it, Sam's eyes wide and shocked, Ope's finger no longer pointing, and Dean trying to control the fine tremors that are moving through the muscles of his hands.  
  
Sam's up, eyes flashing in the light and then he's got a hand on Gabe's shoulder. "You don't talk to her like that. Got me?" Ophelia is still standing in place, face blank and motionless.  
  
The room is uncomfortably tense, and then Dean breaks the tension. "Oh-kay. So Gabriel and I agree. No summoning. Next idea please."


	26. Chapter 26

Dean's honestly not sure who's angrier with this turn of events, him or the pouting hacker in the seat next to him. Somehow Sam had decided he would take Ophelia back, and now Dean and Gabriel are sitting in awkward silence as they ride across the country. Dean's gotten used to having Sam beside him. Used to the reminder that his brother is alive and well, the pranks they pull, the way Sam bitches about his music and his habits. He's not sure why he's being punished.

  
"Am I sulking as much as you are?" Gabe sounds both concerned and surprised.  
  
"Yes." Dean glances his way and sees how Gabriel is peering out the passenger window at the rolling fields and hills. They're just outside of Columbus, and making good time. Sam and Ophelia are somewhere ahead of them, and Dean still needs to talk to her about what happened to Sam. What they're going to do about it.  
  
"This is not me. I am not like this."  
  
He considers pulling off to hit a diner, or at the least fast food, but Sam is somewhere ahead of them, and Ophelia has no idea what he's been up to. No way to properly monitor him. Could she read a text message right now?  
  
"Love makes you crazy Gabe." There's a sharp draw of breath next to him and Dean turns to see that the hacker's face is twisted in shock. "What?"  
  
"Love? You think I love her?"  
  
"I know you love her. You drop everything to come running and babysit her. You drove her across country. You don't want her in danger. Yeah, idiot, you love her." He feels like Bobby all of a sudden, and the urge to say 'idjit' instead of idiot is pretty intense. "Why? What did you think you it was?"  
  
He slumps in the seat and rubs at his face. "Professional fascination. Drive faster Dean-o."  
  
Dean does.

  
  
  
  


\----

 

 

 

"I mean really who do you they think they are? Telling us what we are and aren't going to do like we're irresponsible children? Like they have some authority? And-"  
  
"Sam-"  
  
"After everything that's happened you'd think they would trust us to be a little responsible. To have their best intentions in mind. Sure, maybe it's not the safest course but-"  
  
"Sam-"  
  
"It's the smartest. Why are we expected to just sit back? They can be in danger, but we have to be-"  
  
" _Sam_!"  
  
He took a deep breath and looked her way. Ope's knees were pulled against her chest, sunglasses eating most of her face and cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth as she stared dead ahead. "What is it Ope?"  
  
"Are you talking about Gabe and Dean, or just Dean?" She tilted her head once and tapped her cigarette out the cracked window.  
  
"I-well-mostly Dean. I guess."  
  
She nodded sagely and then opened her mouth, but her phone ringing interrupted her. She fumbled with it once and then pulled it out and opened it. "Ope." Her mouth turned downwards, and then all the color fled from her face. "What? When?" Sam pulled the car over onto the shoulder and watched the way her hands shook, how she threw the cigarette out without a second thought and rubbed at her mouth. "How bad?" There was a long silence and then she nodded once and swallowed hard. "Ok. Ok Tommy I'll call the insurance people. We're paid up, so that's one fucking thing." She listened to more for a long time and then hung up and dropped the phone into Sam's lap.  
  
"What happened? Insurance for what?"  
  
"Call Dean. Tell him we need to meet somewhere we can all sit down. I'll tell you then."  
  
"Ope we-"  
  
"Please Sam. Fucking do it. Make it a bar."  
  
And that, more than anything else, was what had Sam's blood running cold as he dialed Dean's number.

  
  
  


\----

 

 

 

 _The whole thing Ope. It's gone. Just gone._  
  
She took the second and third shot without seeing them, and the hand that landed on her shoulder only reminded her that she still hadn't spoken. Hadn't given them anything, and that wasn't good. She had to be scaring the shit out of Sam. The fourth shot was almost comforting.  
  
"They burned down my shop." Fifth shot tasted like ambrosia, and her head was swimming even as the world tilted harshly around her. "Inspector is comfortable with calling it arson."  
  
There was silence around the small table, and then Dean slid a sixth shot into her hand and she swallowed it without crying. Without screaming and raging, even though flipping the table and bashing the nearest bystander into his component parts seemed like the best idea she'd ever fucking had.  
  
"Opey-" Gabe shut up when she waved a hand, and then she was gripping her fists into tight balls and pressing them against her eyes in a desperate attempt to not cry in front of them.  
  
"We should get you to an airport Gabriel. You should get back to your real life. In the meantime I'll take the Jeep and Ope can stay with Bobby. He can keep her safe." Dean sounded incredibly sure and confident. She reached out, but Sam's big hand slid the next shot away and then swallowed both of her smaller ones.  
  
"You're right. She's not going anywhere alone. Not after this." The Dean shaped blob was nodding vigorously, and then Sam was turning her and wrapping her up in his arms. "We're gonna get through this. I'm so sorry Ope. Sorry."  
  
Of course. _Of fucking course_ Sam thought this was his fault. Because that was how Sam thought. She needed more booze. "Not your fault Sam. Can I-"  
  
"I've got a place." She jerked once in Sam's embrace and then turned her head enough to spot the Gabriel shape leaning towards her. "You could-uh you could stay there sweets. Long as you needed."  
  
She couldn't make out all of Sam's face, but she could tell from his posture he was tense. "I don't know if that's a good idea. I'd rather she be with someone we-"  
  
"Hey! Do I get a fucking vote in my own future or is this going to be a decision I'm cut out of?" They all turned towards her then, and she took a deep breath. "I'm going home. I'm going to stay in my home. It's warded and fucking fine."  
  
There was a miniature explosion, but Sam's voice ended up loudest. "Absolutely not. They're closing in on the area Ope. They could know where the house is, they found the shop, and they'll go after you I'm sure. You have to- _please Ope_."  
  
Sam begging. _Fuck._ She closed her eyes and rubbed at her face for a moment trying to figure out what to do. "I've got more sigils of protection on that place than I know what to do with. No one is getting in Sam. I'll be fine."  
  
She knew what they wanted, knew what they were asking for, but honestly she just couldn't do it. It was bad enough to be so goddamn dependent with the eyesight thing, but this? She had savings, but they wouldn't last long. Even when she was blind she at least had a cut from the shop coming in. Now? Now she had to wait for the insurance pay-off and then hope all her artists could hang on until she had a new place and new equipment. She couldn't do it. Couldn't smile her way through it. Instead she just put her head down and listened to the three men argue around her about her future.

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

She ended up in Dean's Impala, ground being eaten by his tires and their forward progress to Maine back on track.  
  
"I wish you'd change your mind."  
  
Ope closed her eyes and considered how much easier it was to just be blind. "He doesn't need me anymore."  
  
She didn't miss the way Dean jerked, felt it in the seat and wondered at it even as his voice came out rough and panicked. "What?"  
  
"He doesn't need me anymore. Not the way he used to. He's got you now, and that's what I wanted. I won't be a fucking burden Dean. Not anymore. I _have_ to be my own fucking person. You get that right?"  
  
There was silence, and then Dean sighed. "Yeah sweetheart, I get that. But that thing you said? It ain't true. He's always gonna need you."  
  
"Dean he's not-"  
  
"You haven't asked me about the Seal. About what happened."  
  
There's something there, something in Dean's voice that makes her so tight so quick it'll probably result in pulling something. She fumbles for her cigarettes and eventually finds them. "How did the Seal go Dean?"  
  
"It was a demon. Two witches brought it back, and we didn't stop it so that one is broken. Which would seem like the worst news, 'cept when I came around the corner of the mausoleum I found Sam standing over its highjacked body with black eyes."  
  
There's no air in the goddamn car anymore, and Ophelia fumbles with her grip on the cigarette as she tries to remember how to draw in oxygen and function like a fully mobile human being. _Sam with the world's blood on his hands and black eyes_. "Oh."  
  
"Oh? That all you got? Oh?" Now he sounds angry, and she squints one eye open and he's clear enough she can confirm that theory.  
  
"Shit?"  
  
His laugh has no mirth at all. "Yeah. Shit. What are we supposed to do?"  
  
For a moment she has no words. This is the worst of all possible scenarios, and there's no back-up plan for this. When she started her machinations so long ago she never saw anything like this happening. It was just supposed to be securing someone who would care enough for Sam to hang around. To be there if he needed support or defense. No hunting, no brother/lover, and no fucking _apocalypse_. Now Sam's so mired in shit it's amazing he's keeping his head up. Which is why she was so proud of him, because he was getting so much stronger, but now…  
  
 _But now_. "We don't let him go further. We watch him, we make sure he doesn't get lost or backslide, and we remind him why it's so important he doesn't go down that road again. If he's drinking the blood we cut that shit off, and if he's not and it's just the lingering effects then we smack him on the nose with a rolled up newspaper until he learns his goddamn lesson." _Angry_. She's fucking angry now. Her shop, her livelihood, the three of them planning her life, and Sam backsliding. And Ophelia angry? It means she starts planning.

  
  
  


\----

 

 

 

Sam's not sure what he was expecting when they got out of the car just outside of the house. He knows eventually there's going to be an argument. One between him and Ophelia because she's going to be packing and then leaving no matter what she thinks, and one between him and Dean over how he handled Samhain. Sam will damned though if he's going to apologize for that. He saved the town, maybe more, and that's what _matters_. If his powers can finally be used for good then that's what they should be used for. What he doesn't expect is Ophelia sliding out of the Impala and crossing the grass without speaking to anyone. Gabe shoots him an odd look and then follows her, and Sam falls in line.  
  
He hears the crash seconds before he gets to the door, and then he's slamming through it behind the hacker and into the kitchen. Ophelia has thrown a chair through the back picture window. For a second the room is completely silent as she stands there, chest heaving and hands gripping another chair.  
  
"Opey maybe you should put down-"  
  
She cuts Gabriel off. "Sam get a chair." He looks at her blankly, completely unsure, but her tone is deadly hard. He feels Dean come in behind him, and he hesitates but then she's shouting. " _Pick up a fucking chair Sam_!"  
  
Hesitantly, slowly, he picks up the next chair. She whips the one she has through the glass front of the china cabinet and the pieces spray around her. "Ophelia!" It's shock that makes him use her full name, but she doesn't really seem to hear it.  
  
"Throw it Sam. Through the window. Fucking smash this shit up. We're done here." She stalks through the glass and out of the kitchen and he drops the chair and follows helplessly into the living room where she's hefting up a rock Jeff brought back from some trip and eyeing one of the big windows.  
  
"Ope? Ope what the hell is going on?"  
  
She doesn't turn when she speaks, but there's a coldness he's never experienced before. "Dean informed me about how you took care of that demon. Because that shit worked out _so well_ for you before. I can read your fucking mind man, and I know what you're thinking. Worth the price because it's for the good right? But that's what you felt when Brady had you doing it, and when your head was clear you didn't think it anymore. You fucking hated what it did to you, what it _left in you,_ and how it changed you. You aren't thinking straight little brother, but that's what I'm here for." Her arm cocks back and the rock flies, smashing another window and throwing glass everywhere. When she turns there are streaks of red across her face where shards have grazed her skin. "You want to destroy everything we built? _I'll help you_. I'll always help you Sammy, so start smashing with me, because we got a lot of shit to tear down."  
  
"Ophelia. No. Please no." There's shame now, Gabriel staring at him in confusion and Dean in pity, but it's her that he can't stand. Face hopeless and lost, body wound up in some sort of fever pitch. "It's not like that. I just have to-I just needed it then."  
  
"And you'll need it again and again until you're back on your fucking knees. You want to go down Sammy? I'm going with you. It's the only direction we know anyway."  
  
Dean's there then, strong arms around him and holding him up when Sam's knees give out on him. The scent of copper and the sound of screams everywhere. "Sammy. Sammy I got you. I got you baby boy."  
  
It's over. He can't do this. Can't destroy everything he worked so hard to have. She's right, because if he goes down that road again this is all that stands before him. The destruction of everything that really matters.  
  
Except Meg's words ring in the back of his head, and Sam wonders. Wonders what will happen when the day comes that his only choices are preserving what he's built, or saving the world. The exact dichotomy she accused Dean of being unable to resist.  
  
His head is pillowed against Dean's shoulder, and he's breathing in that familiar smell as Dean's hand rubs circles on his back. As Dean holds him together again, and one day Sam is going to have to be the one not falling apart. Just once he'd like that. This isn't the time though, and without a word Dean leads him back to his room. He lets himself be cradled, lets himself be held, and he falls asleep exhausted after the hours of driving and tension. Just exhausted.

  
  
  
  


\------

 

 

 

Dean finds her on the porch where he expected her, joint in her fingers and pupils blown wide and open. She looks at him once before taking a deep drag and chasing one errant puff of smoke.  
  
"How's it going Riggs?"  
  
She laughs and then chokes on the lungful of smoke. "I'm on the _ragged edge_."  
  
Whether he likes Castiel's revelation or not tonight has brought home to him that the angel was right. She is designed to keep Sam human, to hold him in a place where Dean can love him. Because those eyes…that short glimpse of Sam as something that Dean would be forced to hunt was a startling revelation that puts all the other things he's learned into stark context. Dean never thought of it before really. Never took into consideration how close Sam was to being something that he would be able to turn against. He's grateful for it, and hates it all at the same time. Hates _himself_ for being grateful.  
  
"He's always gonna need you Ope. You're gonna need to stick around. You know that right? If you were planning on coming back here and making your last stand 'cause you thought you were obsolete then tonight should have disproved that. Kid can't survive without you."  
  
She taps the joint gently before taking another long, deep drag. When she finally speaks it's rough, and smoke curls around her lips. "I'll go to Bobby's. I'll behave."  
  
Dean nods once and then taps her knee lightly. "You play a good bad cop."  
  
"Those windows are going to be fucking expensive to replace." She laughs once, hysteria edging it. "I don't really have an income anymore. Fuck Dean. My shop. _My goddamn shop_. All my clientele are gonna need a new place, my artists are going to be looking for jobs, and I just-fuck!" She kicks the cement porch once and then covers her face. "Assholes."  
  
"At least they didn't get the house. At least nobody was hurt. They did us a favor warning us to move before they closed in."  
  
Her hand drops and her eyes are narrowed as she takes one more drag and then outs the joint against the sole of her boot. "When my eyesight is all better, when I'm a hundred percent, I'm gonna make sure to thank one or two of them personally."  
  
Dean can't fault her for that, and he nods once before linking his fingers behind his head and looking out over the host of colors the trees have become. "I feel yah. In the meantime though, let's focus on keeping you safe and getting you better. We'll take a day, rest, and then we pack up and head out. Anything you really can't live without for a month or two?"  
  
"There's a statue on my altar, the scrapbooks, and I'd really like to bring dad's bike. If we can rent a trailer and hook it up to the Jeep we can take it. In the meantime let's just get shit moving. The longer we stay the harder it'll be to leave." Gabriel appears out of nowhere and flops onto the cement by her feet, shoulders braced against her knees. "There's plywood in the garage that can cover the windows. I'll clean up the glass."  
  
"Already done sweets." Her eyebrow raises and Dean's surprised as well. Gabriel shrugs and grins. "I moonlighted as a janitor once."  
  
They break apart and Dean ends up back in bed with Sam. He wraps himself around his little brother's body and hopes for the best, even as he expects the worst.  
  
They've lost all but eight Seals, and the pressure is on. This isn't the time for them to break apart, to lose their strength and unity, and it certainly isn't the time for Sam to think he needs to sacrifice his humanity for…humanity. Dean needs his brother.

  
  
  
  


\-----

  
  
  


 

 

The caravan to Bobby's rolls out a day later. They go a bit off course because Ope insists Gabriel get back to his life, states Bobby won't be pleased with extra guests, and the hacker lets them drop him off in Chicago. She jumps cars, riding sometimes with Sam and sometimes with Dean. They stop at diners, spend one night in a crummy motel because Sam still isn't used to driving for a full day without rest, and when they finally reach Sioux Falls and the junkyard Bobby is waiting for them with wide open arms. He snatches her up and swings her around before giving Sam and Dean a controlled one arm hug. Sam's glad Bobby doesn't know, that there's no disappointment in the older man's gaze, and they have dinner that night at Bobby's table.  
  
The conversation gets heavy fairly quickly, because Bobby won't be denied knowledge anymore, and it takes Dean and Ophelia to keep him calm when he finds out just how much they've been hiding from him. Then the tomes come out. Sam's never been to Bobby's house before, but the chaotic version of sorting that the older man subscribes to is almost amusing compared to Ope's OCD system. She squints her way through his selection, bitching happily about how hard it is to find things, and accepting his taunting when he grabs them out easily and hands them over.  
  
Sam hasn't seen her in her reading glasses in a long time, but he soaks in the sight of Ophelia and Bobby poking at each other good-naturedly as they dig out forgotten bits of lore about the end times and demons. At one point she threatens to throw a book at him, he threatens her health, and Dean threatens them both if they don't _shut the hell up_. Sam tries to help, he really does, but the bleak reality of knowing all of this isn't going to help in the end is impossible to ignore.  
  
It's almost a relief when the sound of fluttering wings arrives, and then Bobby is shouting in surprise as Castiel stands in the middle of their printed chaos with an almost bemused look on his face and his posture just as stiff as ever. The relief dies when Castiel puts one finger to hips lips and crosses around the room, knife appearing silently from his sleeve before he cuts his hand and starts painting bloody sigils all over Bobby's windows. The older man grunts once in surprise or disgust and then settles down when the angel finishes and turns back to them.  
  
"Those will keep Heaven from seeing or hearing anything inside this house. I am beginning to feel concern that my superiors are not interested in stopping the Apocalypse."  
  
For a minute Sam thinks they'll all just sit there staring at him in wonder, but Dean breaks the silence rather easily. "No shit Sherlock. What was your first guess?"  
  
Head tilted, blue eyes questioning. "They are still refusing to give a list of the potential Seals, and I have heard conversations that suggest there is no plan in place for stopping the final Seal from being broken. But Dean my name is not Sherlock. It is Castiel. Are you feeling well?"  
  
Bobby barks out laughter before realizing the angel is serious. "So you're the angel on our side?"  
  
Blue eyes take Bobby in, weigh him, and then the angel nods slowly and seriously. The response is heavy with meaning. "Yes. I am the angel on your side."  
  
Ope's whoop is heart-warming.

  
  
  
  


\----

 

 

 

Six hours of strategy and planning leave Sam wrung totally dry and useless. He ends up on a couch in Bobby's living room, and without Dean's weight beside him it's still hard to sleep no matter how exhausted he is. Castiel wants them to check something out tomorrow, and Bobby is planning on coming along. Ophelia's insistence that she stay behind and get as much research done as she can handle is one Sam is willing to accept. Anything to keep her safe and hidden. Anything to keep her out of the goddamn fight.  
  
When Dean's hand lands on his shoulder he comes out of his daze to see that the sun has risen and there's no one else in the living room with them. Which gives him time to steal a kiss that turns into two, and then Bobby is clearing his throat and there's an audience in the doorway staring at them. Ope makes a noise, something like an awww, and Dean gives her the finger before dropping a chaste kiss on Sam's temple and pulling him up. They climb into the Impala and Castiel gives them directions, eyes focused and sharp as they cross territory. Bobby follows behind in a rustbucket Dean eyed disdainfully before shaking his head and refusing to enter it.  
  
They land about seven hours out, and the factory that sits in the middle of a broad parking lot is imposing in its size, but not unusual. Workers move in and out of the building, heavy machinery rolls along asphalt, and the whole thing seems industrious and normal. Which is why Castiel's news seems so out of place.  
  
"This is Hell's next move. It is a virus, a disease they call Croatoan. It is supposed to turn humans into facsimiles of possessed bodies. They will know nothing but aggression and hate. If the Apocalypse happens the next thing they will do is spread it from this distribution center."  
  
There's silence, and then Bobby clears his throat and fiddles with his hat. "How much of this do they got in there?"  
  
"Enough to infect the entire planet. It does not take much."  
  
Dean's hands are clenching and unclenching on his thighs, face set in a tight scowl, and Sam reaches over without thinking and grips one of Dean's hands tightly. They sit, contemplating, until Bobby's gruff voice hangs heavy in the air. "Then we ain't got much choice but to crash the party now do we?"  
  
Castiel lifts one brow. "I do not understand."  
  
"We're gonna go in. We need to watch it, plan, and then we'll take it out. Systematically. Bobby how much do you know about building bombs?"  
  
"More than enough."

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

Dean watches Bobby stockpile pipe bombs while he cleans his gun. Castiel looks like he's not sure if he should be amused or concerned, and his expression ends up in some mid-way point that expresses constipation instead. Still he doesn't speak through the process, and Sam finds a pretty reasonable set of blueprints so they know the layout of their target. Dean points out exits and entrances, maps out a plan, and leaves Bobby to go through the loading docks with Castiel while he and Sam will be taking the offices. Castiel insists that it's fair to assume anyone inside is an enemy, but Dean doesn't want to take the chance. It would be just like Hell to employ normal human beings in something this insidious. So he makes sure that while they're all armed, no one is going to shoot to kill without knowing. A part of him wants to remind Sam that powers are off the table, but this close to Ophelia's blow-up it's too raw to be taken as anything other than an admonishment. They spend the night in separate rooms, Castiel taking off for angel business.  
  
He wants so badly to broach the gap between them. To take Sam into his arms and taste him, explore him, because this is a big thing. A _big_ thing, and they may not make it through. They're woefully under-equipped for a factory full of fucking demons, and if one of them gets infected that's _it_. End of story. So yeah, a part of Dean wants to make sure that if this is their last night together they make the most of it. It's the logical thing to do, and any other time Dean would be diving headfirst into foreplay in an attempt to blow off steam and clear the air.  
  
Which is why it's so out of character that what he actually does is pull Sam into his arms and begin what can only be called spooning even if Dean would hit anyone who actually named it that. His lips pressed into the curls at the base of Sam's neck, and his nose buried in the soft chestnut locks breathing in all of Sam's scent. It's comforting, soothing, and it reminds him of holding Sam as a baby. Of loving him unconditionally and without fear. That's what Dean needs now. He needs to wipe out the image of Sam with black eyes, and the desperate roadside blowjob didn't help him in that area at all. He needs _Sam_ , and this is how he can have him. All of him. Sure, sex can make Dean vulnerable, but this? This is as exposed and vulnerable as it gets.  
  
Somehow, someway, Sam seems to know it. Seems to understand that Dean doesn't want this to turn into an encounter, needs them to simply be still and close. He feels the broad chest expand, the steady beat of Sam's heart, and the rumble in his chest when he talks. "Hey Dean? Is this what it's always like?"  
  
What he does next is not necessarily nuzzling, but it's kind of close. "No. Sometimes it's a rush. Knowing that what you're about to do could be something big, and you're a part of it. Saving lives and being a hero. Sometimes it's terrifying, knowing that any second now your life is probably gonna end and you can't do much about it. Sometimes it's peaceful, because you can get tired of this real quick."  
  
There's a huff, Sam shifting slightly in his arms, and then his brother takes another deep breath. "No matter what happens I want you to know, you've made me strong. Made me someone I can like again, and I can't thank you enough for that Dean. I love you."  
  
He takes his own deep breath then, and when he lets it out his lips press more firmly against curls and skin. "Yeah Sammy. You too."  
  
The next morning it's like it never happened. They climb into their separate cars and approach the factory silently. Dean nods to Bobby and Castiel as the two head off in one direction, and then he and Sam lope across the parking lot with a bag full of holy water and pipe bombs a piece. The crouch down and line the windows from outside first before heading for the doors. Sam waits 'til the entrance to pop the salt bag, and then leaves trails across doorways as they head down mostly empty hallways. They block rooms off one by one in an attempt to minimize potential casualties. The process takes longer than Dean wants it too, but each step is a natural progression. They lay pipe bombs in places Sam has deemed structurally important. Once all the offices and extra rooms have been warded by salt they lean against a wall and wait. Bobby's message comes in not much longer after they've finished. _Ready_.  
  
Sam flips the fire alarm on the wall, and Dean watches doors fling open. At first it's people filing out with wide eyes and loud chatter. Then one tall man steps up to an office doorway and jerks to a stop, eyes flashing black and face twisting in hatred. Which is when the screaming starts.  
  
People are already moving, afraid and confused, but the shouting that takes place inside the offices, the demons locked into those rooms by salt barriers, creates a panic Dean could not have anticipated in a million years. For some reason their rage is taken as terror, and the human workers begin to stampede toward the doors. What was no doubt a well-rehearsed emergency exit procedure is abandoned, and Dean has to fight to hold out against the crowd until he's sure that none of the lines he can see have been broken. When the crowd stops rushing from the hallway Sam is watching he waits for his brother, and Sam comes skidding around the corner at high speed with a nod. They join up and rush past rooms filled with screaming demons. Dean resists the urge to slow down long enough to taunt them.  
  
Instead he runs to the meet up point and finds Bobby and Castiel. The older man is huffing, a bright patch of blood on his shirt but no wounds that Dean can see. They make it about forty yards away before the explosions begin, and _that_ wasn't quite to plan. Dean leaps, slamming bodily into Sam and pushing him down before covering as much of the taller man as he can. He feels bits rain down, stones and wood, and one hits him hard in the back and drives the air out of him.  
  
When the booms have ended, when Dean is pretty sure there won't be more, he rolls off of Sam and takes several long slow breaths. Castiel is there in seconds, and it's so good to have a medic on hand Dean submits to being poked and prodded by the angel for probably longer than is necessary. Certainly longer than _he_ thinks is necessary.  
  
But it's over, and that's amazing. Which leaves Dean to turn to Bobby and throw his hands out in a _what the hell_ gesture. Bobby looks actually mollified, and Dean tries not to laugh at that. Not to give in to the adrenaline rushing through his system right now.  
  
"I didn't say the damn things were perfect, just that they'd get the job done." Bobby has to shout, but it's all good.The ringing in his ears kind of sounds like victory. They spend the night drinking, Castiel sniffing surreptitiously at his beer before taking a long gulp. The angel doesn't indulge for long though. That night, Dean takes Sam slow and sweet on the bed furthest from the door. In deference to Bobby being next door Sam bites his arm to keep the noise down, and Dean hates that, but he can't complain much. He's buried in his brother, completely entwined, and they're both alive without a scratch on them. It's a goddamn miracle.  
  
Bobby splits the next morning, gruffly announcing someone named Rufus has an emergency. Dean simply nods and turns the Impala back towards Bobby's house. Sam informs him that Ope spent last night sending him text messages complaining about her lack of transportation and the grocery situation. He's so happy, so high, Dean doesn't even bitch about having to go shopping.

 

 

 

\----

 

 

 

Sam pushes his way through the door juggling the bags from the store and Dean takes a moment to really consider how far they've come. How impressive it is that Sam is here, alive, blowing up buildings and then grocery shopping like everything is normal. His brother is strong, stronger than Dean ever imagined, and he can't find a way to tell him that without sounding like a love-struck teenage girl. Instead he watches Sam drop the bags on the table and head into the living room.  
  
"Ope! Get your lazy ass up and help put away!" Dean shuffles through the bags and muses on their version of domesticity and the ease with which it's found him before he hears Sam's voice again, less sure and amused. "Ope? Come on Ope no time for playing around."  
  
He's moving before he even realizes it. Dropping the jar of sauce onto the floor and ignoring the sound of shattering glass. Because it was going too well. She's sprawled on the couch, grey blanket under her chin and face settled too still and composed. Dean knows without having to see anything else what's wrong, and he just needs Sam to move. Needs him _away_.  
  
"Sammy. Go get the first-aid kit ok? Smelling salts or something." It's a useless gesture, but Sam stumbles upwards and crashes his way down the hall towards the bathroom. Dean presses two fingers against her throat and feels the stillness there.  
  
"Oh fuck. You can't-" That's when he sees the stain on the blanket, and he pulls it down slowly. She's surprisingly naked under the throw blanket, which is the least of his concerns. The gaping hole in her chest exposes the lost organ, and there's a glint of something that looks plastic, but he doesn't have time to study it because Sam has moved too quickly. There's the crash of the first-aid kit hitting the floor, and then Dean is being shoved away as Sam screams. Screams like an animal dying in a trap. The look in his eyes isn't too far from that, and Dean's not sure what to do. How to help. Sam is just screaming, and his voice keeps breaking on the "lia" part of her name as he clutches the little corpse to his chest and rocks.  
  
It takes an hour to get him to let go, and then Sam clings to him and sobs helplessly. There are no words. Nothing but soothing noises, and that doesn't help much. He mostly carries Sam to the upstairs guest room, digs through the cabinet, and then pulls out two of Bobby's sedatives before forcing Sam to take them both and stroking his hair until the guy is unconscious. It's the best he can do.  
  
He goes back into the living room and dips his fingers into her chest with a murmured apology. The plastic glint was a ziploc bag, and inside it is a note with Sam's name written in blocky letters. He pulls it out carefully and opens it slowly.  
  
 **Your brother's heart is next.-Lilith**  
  
He calls Gabriel, because the guy deserves a heads-up. Because he knows how much he loved Ophelia. It doesn't hurt that this call will be easier than the one to Bobby. The voice that answers is cheery and ignorant. Grates against his current mood.  
  
 _"Dean-o! How's my third favorite crazy person?"_  
  
For a moment he can't find his voice, and then it's there gruff and low. "You should come. Ope is-Ope is dead."  
  
There's silence, a crackling along the line as if it was a bad land connection. _"What?"_  
  
"She's dead. Murdered."  
  
There's the sound of wings and he looks expecting Castiel and instead seeing Gabriel standing in the living room with his phone in one hand and his head tilted at an odd angle. He drops the cell and steps forward before touching her pale face. His voice is fire and smoke when it reaches Dean's ears. "Who?"  
  
He holds out the note and Gabriel looks it over three or four times before handing it back. He sits on the floor and pulls the body into his lap. "Gabriel. We need to build a pyre. Give her a proper-"  
  
"If you say funeral Winchester I'll end you where you stand. No one is giving her a funeral. No one is burning her body." There's a look in his eyes that Dean knows all too well. He doesn't argue, he just lets it go. This is grief, and Dean understands that, because his brain feels just as fried.  
  
"Gabriel. We-"  
  
"How did I get here instantly? Has it even clicked in your thick fucking skull?" Gabriel looks up, and the eyes aren't amber they are fucking golden. _Inhuman._  
  
"I don't know." And he doesn't. So much is going on in his head he can't really focus on that until Gabriel mentions it. But the guy…he's passed all the tests. Walked through the devil's traps and over the salt. _The sound of wings_...  
  
"She's not staying dead. I won't _let_ her stay dead." He stands then and holds the body close, tenderly, like she's a fragile doll he's carrying to its shelf. "Take care of Sam. I'll be back."  
  
Except when Dean goes upstairs to get Sam his brother isn't there anymore.


	27. Chapter 27

Dean bursts out of the front door fast as lightning and the room waiting for him on the other side is opulent and gorgeous. There's a man he doesn't recognize waiting there, and Castiel is standing behind him looking stern and calm.

  
"What-who the fuck are you? Why isn't this outside?"  
  
The bald and slightly heavy angel smiles once, indulgently, and then steeples his fingers. "Dean Winchester. After all this time. My name is Zachariah, and this-" he gestures expansively and crinkles his nose in what is obviously supposed to be some sort of grandfatherly charm, "-is Heaven."  
  
Castiel's face is…odd. Tight in a way the angel has never been before, and Dean gets the specific vibe that Cas doesn't want to be there. That he'd rather be anywhere else honestly. It's almost like guilt.  
  
"Heaven. Why the hell am I in Heaven? I need to be on _earth_. Sam is-I need to find my brother."  
  
Zachariah's face shifts for a second, and then his tone is indulgent and slightly wheedling. "Yes of course. Well, you see Dean Samuel is currently engaged in very important business, and it behooves everyone for you to be here instead of there."  
  
"No. No it _behooves_ everyone for you to send me back down to earth so that I can get my little brother. You know, before I get pissed off and start smashing shit." He eyes ones of the expensive looking statues pointedly, but the angel seems unimpressed. Castiel shifts once and catches his eye, but Dean can't figure out what message he's trying to convey. The only thing he can think right now is that his brother faked sleeping, faked taking the sedative, and that he's out there grief-stricken and alone. Unprotected.  
  
"Dean. Please let's be logical here shall we? You took an oath to serve Heaven, and at the moment the way you do that is to stay here until Samuel has finished his task." With a slow wave a plate of bacon cheeseburgers and a bucket of ice covered beer appear on the table in between them. "I promise it won't take too much of your time, and you'll leave completely relaxed and refreshed. Aren't you tired Dean? Tired of the constant pressure and disappointment? Tired of taking care of Sam and that girl he replaced you with? Well this is your chance to take a small vacation before the real trouble starts."  
  
There's a fifty-fifty shot that his jaw muscles are going to simply snap from how hard he's clenching them. "Hey. _Asshole_. I'm not tired of anything other than your bullshit. Now wave your hand or snap your fingers or whatever and send me back so I can get Sam. I'm not joking around with you anymore." It may be childish, but he sweeps the plate off the table to prove his point. Somehow the angel's dignity doesn't take much of a hit despite his slacks being spattered with mustard and cheese.  
  
"I can see you're upset. I'm just going to give you a little time to cool off." With that he's gone, and Dean's alone with Castiel. He takes the six steps necessary to grab the angel and shake him. Rumpled trenchcoat sliding under his fingers as he tries to impress his concern through physical contact.  
  
"Send me back Cas. I need to go back."  
  
"I am afraid I-Dean this is out of my hands. I cannot help you. This is what must happen."  
  
"What? What is _this_?"  
  
For a second, a terrible and infinite second, Dean is sure he won't answer. The head tilts, the eyes are heavy and almost sad, and if Dean believed Castiel could feel he would label this as a mixture of guilt and misery.  
  
"Sam is slated to break the last Seal. He will do so in an attempt to protect you from the fate Ophelia has suffered."  
  
Dean catches on faster than he thought he could. Certainly faster than Castiel wanted him to if the angel's response is any indicator. "How did you know about that? Those wards you put up should have blocked you from seeing anything that happened in Bobby's house."  
  
He's not holding anything anymore. His hands stay extended and curled, but empty, and Castiel is across the room standing at a door that Dean can't see beyond even though it is wide open. "I am sorry Dean. Believe me. It was out of my hands, and it was her duty to fulfill." Then he's gone, door disappearing after he steps through it, and the world tilting wildly out of control.  
  
Not demons. Not fucking demons, but _angels_ killed her. Angels carved her heart out and left that message for Sam. Angels set this last thing in motion, and how the hell can _Sammy_ be the one to break the last Seal? Nothing makes sense anymore, except the visceral joy of smashing every piece of decorative opulence around him. It won't do any good, Dean knows it logically, but he hauls up one heavy marble statue and begins smashing his way through walls systematically. The whole time he works to the beat screaming in his head. The beat that only knows one word, has only known one word for what seems like his whole life. _Sam_.

 

 

\------

 

 

Gabriel has been around since as close to the beginning as anybody. He knows the ins and outs of the universe better than any of his siblings, and he's seen so many humans die that at this point it should be like trees shed their foliage in the autumn. The image of the little statue, well-loved and polished on her altar appears in his mind. This one though…this one isn't a leaf falling off a tree or some pretentious douchebag that deserved every second of ironic suffering. This one is _his_ , and fuck Destiny. This one belongs to him in every way that has ever mattered. He's not her guardian angel, shit he isn't even an angel anymore. Not technically. Hasn't claimed the name for anything other than an alias since the psychic in Oklahoma. She's supposed to be Destiny's puppet, and he knows it. Knew it when he made contact with Sam and saw the way she kept one hand on the kid's shoulder even though as far as she knew he was just pixels on a screen.  
  
Her face is relaxed, insufferably so, and he knows that resurrecting her is going to send up a signal that can't be ignored. He let that baby angel take her to avoid that, didn't fix her sight for forever to stay hidden, but now he's got little choice. He'll be back in the spotlight in seconds, and there's no avoiding that. The best he can do is clamp down on his concern and ride with it. This isn't picking a side though. It will help Sam, and helping Sam means going against Lucifer. Means putting a foot into the endgame and calling out an allegiance. Which he doesn't want, has never wanted, but there's no getting around it. If it comes down to it he can argue that this was a very special case. Because her face is relaxed, and he _hates that_. He's used to her looking annoyed or flirtatious. Used to her mouth moving, her eyebrows dancing, her nose crinkling. Used to all the minutiae of emotion that pass by as she expresses a complete lack of poker face.  
  
Her hand should be tapping, her feet twitching, her leg muscles tightening and loosening under his gaze. She should always be in motion, and instead she is still. He can see the hole where her heart was, and it occurs to him that the neat and precise cuts must have been done with care and consideration. He's willing to bet she was awake for almost all of them. He puts one hand over her eyes, and the other over her chest, and then he summons his long forgotten Grace. It's not hard. He has to start by rebuilding her heart, and he takes his time. Dad is an artist, and the circulatory system was his second masterpiece after the nervous one was built.  
  
Ophelia wakes gasping, one hand to her chest and the other gripping his arm in a hold that would be painful if he were anything other than an archangel of the Lord. Her eyes roam the space they're in without seeing it, and then land on his face and focus. Blue laser beams cutting into him, and they widen and then relax. Her mouth is already moving in silent circles, her voice taking long seconds to catch up with the motion.  
  
"-had a nightmare. A fucking wicked nightmare."  
  
Gabriel nods once and then strokes her hair, lets her bury her face in his shoulder and simply soothes her. "Tell me about it Ope."  
  
She shakes her head but he can't let it go. Wants to but can't. He has to know, even if he won't be doing anything about it. _But he might_. He might do something about it if he can find a way without declaring war. He keeps petting her, and eventually she starts talking. Her voice is low and thick, sounds like she's been at the bar for hours smoking and drinking.  
  
"These guys, these weird fucking guys, came into the house. I was drawing out a sigil and I heard them, but it was too late and they had my hair. They dragged me into the living room, and then they started talking. About Sammy, and how he was going to have to give in. How this would break him. They stripped me down, and then-" Gabriel's hands clench spastically and she pushes against him, "they brought out these wicked fucking knives. Then they held me down and they started cutting me. I could feel the pressure, and I could see what they were doing, but it took so long for me to bleed out I saw when the guy got my ribcage off. Saw him going for my heart. It was so fucking vivid Gabe. Like a goddamn movie. I need a cigarette."  
  
He could give her that. Could snap one into existence. Instead he reminds himself not to hold her as tightly as he wants to and plants his mouth into her hair. Smells the sweet scent of her color-friendly shampoo and the traces of nicotine and dye chemicals.  
  
"Not yet. Need you to listen closely. Can you do that sweets?" Her nod is tentative. Soft. It's so unlike her he feels a sting somewhere deep inside. "I've been lying to you. I told you that, but you gave me an out and I took it. I shouldn't have though. Should have told you the truth."  
  
When he looks down her eyes are cautious. Thoughtful. "Yeah. I think I know."  
  
Gabriel swallows once and then looks past her. Lets his wings unfurl. He knows what it looks like to humans. Knows better than anyone, even if it's been ages since he last did it. He hears the thick noise in the back of her throat, but she doesn't push away from him. It's more than he hoped for. Better than he deserves.  
  
"Been outta the game for so long I honestly never heard your prayers. Didn't know Ope, and I'm sorry about that. But I'm here now, and I'm listening. I ducked out of the fight. Hid in the skin of a pagan god and tried to make everyone think I was someone else so I wouldn't have to take part."  
  
Her fingers move through the energy behind him, and he feels it like she's stuck her little hand directly inside his Grace. It's electric, liquid and vicious, and he's both aroused and injured all at once. She licks her lips and then looks over his shoulder.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Well. _Well_. "I met this girl. Crazy bitch, but she's amazing in bed. One in a million. I can stand the attention if it means getting a little closer." He tries for light-hearted. He really does. Ope's first reaction is to roll her eyes, and then it all seems to click.  
  
"This puts you in danger doesn't it? Like serious fucking danger?"  
  
"Yeah. Well yeah a bit, but I can handle myself. I'm pretty self-sufficient."  
  
Her eyes narrow, and she reaches down and uses one hand to casually flick his belt open and then undo the button on his jeans before sliding the zipper down. "I was dead. That all _really_ happened." She grips his shaft and Gabriel's instantly hard. Her face though, it isn't sexy or interested it's angry. "It happened and you brought me back to goddamn life." Her wrist twists, the spongy head of his vessel's cock slipping in-between two of her fingers to press against all the right nerves and he moans into her hair. "Which puts your dumb ass into danger."  
  
"That's- _shit_ -that's one summary."  
  
"You're a fucking moron. You gave that prophecy to that psychic. You tried to take Sam out of play so the fight wouldn't happen." Her lips press against his, and it's worth all the abuse in the world. He strays one hand to her breasts and she twists away viciously before resuming the rhythm. "Don't touch me. I'm pissed off at you, you big winged asshole."  
  
"This is-" he pulls in one unnecessary breath after another, "an interesting way to work out aggression."  
  
" _Shut up_." The friction and burn, the slide of her fingers against dry skin before they sweep up pre-come and smooth back down. Soothes the burn and feels just as contradictory as her touching his wings. He doesn't stop her. Doesn't argue. "Why'd you do it?"  
  
"Drinking for- _oh fuck_ -three months with Odin and Thor. Powerful stuff they have in Valhalla. Did it on a lark, and then walked away. If I had known the psychic changed the message, that John Winchester would just abandon the kid to fate instead of giving him to someone trustworthy, I would have done something else."  
  
Fingers slide through his wings again, and the orgasm hits him out of nowhere, intense and powerful, and he rides the pleasure. When he comes down she's still watching him, fingers rubbing to the point of pain over the bundle of nerves. "So your internet handle was your fucking cover identity. That's why Hel was so interested in you. All this fucking time you knew everything that was happening and you just watched."  
  
"I-" Well it's true. Not exactly _right_ , but true. He's been involved, but not as much as she obviously wants him to be. There's never been a moment he's wanted to dip into a human's mind more, but he shouldn't. So he does anyway. Her thoughts are a maelstrom, chaotic and insane.  
  
 _-because of course he wouldn't want-but Sam likes him-couldn't have known but you did bitch because he was different-all this time and you couldn't-must have laughed his ass off when-is it worth the shame of-final fight won't be so simple that-fucking good move Ophelia, fall in love with someone who-_  
  
He cuts himself off from the source and waits, but she doesn't speak. Instead she stares at the mess on her fingers and rubs them together thoughtfully. They stay that way for a long time, until he can't stand the stickiness and he snaps it away. Puts one hand on her face and the other on her shoulder. If he was good, if he was still someone who was meant to do good, he would tell her that he loved her. That this was the way he showed it. He would make it a point to remove that shame and self-abasement she's stewing in. But opening that door would open so many others.  
  
"You need to rest now. Dying is hell on a girl's system." Her eyes cut up, and she looks briefly surprised.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah it is."

 

 

\-----

 

Sam waits for Dean to leave the room. Waits, and then when he's heard the boots clunking down the stairs he spits out the chalky pills and pulls himself out of the bed. He's never been prone to sickness, usually ridiculously healthy, but once two years ago he had the flu. This feels like that. All the energy is drained out of him, his head is swimming, and everything _hurts_. Everything from his heart to his damn teeth, and more than anything else Sam wants to stay down. Wants to stay under the covers and wait for Dean to come back and stroke his hair and tell him it will be alright. _Except it won't._ It won't be alright ever again because Ope is dead and it's because of him. He knows it. Knows it in his bones. The demons got in and they took her heart. The same demons that will be coming for Dean, and if they could break through Bobby's defenses-  
  
It's child's play to slip down the stairs without making a sound, and he can hear Dean talking in the living room but the words mean nothing. He can't look that way, can't stand the possibility of seeing Dean's face, or Ope's body. _Ope's body_.  
  
Instead Sam slides down the hallway and jimmies open a window before slipping out of it. He moves from car to car checking each until he finds one Bobby has left the keys in. It starts with only a few jerks, and then he eases it backwards and over the bumpy dirt until he's on the road and headed away. When he spoke to Meg he looked up the convent she mentioned and read all about its dark history. He knows where he's supposed to be going, but he doesn't know why.  
  
To protect Dean? To avenge Ope? It's all so pat, so put together, and Sam doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know how to live in a world where the first person to ever care for him isn't, and the second is in danger. He has the power, and he could do it. He can hear his own voice mocking him in the back of his head, on repeat, _Nothing's gonna happen to you while I'm around_. Her little body still and cold, dead so long she'd passed through rigor mortis and into flexibility again. Stripped down and emptied like a-  
  
He jerks the wheel to avoid the oncoming car and listens to the blare of the passing horn even as his shaking hands hold the wheel steady and get back on track. He can do this. _He can do this._  
  
Calling Meg was easy because Sam had a name. He won't be able to take out a major player running on the fumes of what Brady once gave him. What little was left in his system he wasted on Samhain, and now he needs more blood. Needs to recharge his batteries so that he can make it the rest of the way through this. See it to the end.  
  
" _Ok Sammy. It's ok."_ But it's not and it won't be.  
  
So Sam finds an empty building, and he sets up camp. He's only a few hours away from the convent, and all he needs are ritual items. He finds some of them at a grocery store, and the others at a New Age shop where the store owner eyes him speculatively before offering up a bundle of herbs and suggesting it's the best cure for heartbreak. Sam struggles not to laugh in her well-intentioned face, because heartbreak is the furthest thing from Sam's current condition. Sam is not heartbroken, Sam is _empty_. Sam is devastated. There's nothing left, and he knows now that this was the crash Dean coming into his life promised. How could he have ever expected to be able to have them both? To have either of them? Nothing Sam loves is ever left to him, and he dared to love them both. Now he's paying for it, and the ache is bittersweet and terrible.  
  
There's only one demon name in Sam's rolodex, and he rolls it over and over as he sets up the circle. Ophelia has been dead for two days. Two days of Sam traveling and planning. Two days of working through numb emptiness, and he's exhausted and hungry. He sits outside of the circle and munches on jerky he bought from the gas station as he studies the circle in front of him. _Brady._ There was a time that the name was enough to cripple him. That the idea of seeing the cultured demon again was all it took to send Sam into a gibbering panicked wreck. But that was when Sam cared about living, about preserving what was left of himself, and now all he cares about is keeping Dean alive.  
  
Because he's still breathing. He can still breathe without her, and there's a pang of horror at this betrayal of the little woman that means- _meant_ so much to him. Sure, he's not feeling much, not reacting well, but he's still breathing. But if they took _Dean_. He imagines for a moment walking through that door and finding Dean lying too still. Dean with his broad and strong chest cut open, cavity empty of that great big heart that has held him up and healed him. Dean empty and dead. Because even Bobby's protections-  
  
 _Well that's odd._  
  
Sam mixes the herbs, cuts his hand over the bowl and prepares to face his past in the defense of his future.

 

\-----

 

When she wakes up again Ophelia adds to her growing list of useless trivia that coming back to life is _exhausting_.  
  
Somehow despite the anger and the shame she fell asleep with her face pressed against Gabriel's chest. The _archangel_ Gabriel, because when it rains it pours. She knew he wasn't necessarily human. His aura screamed _special_ and _other_ in a way that wouldn't allow for anything other than not strictly _person_ , but archangel? It hadn't seemed on the menu. Not after everything else. He let her talk about summoning him, wax poetic about praying to him, dream about him rolling in and saving the day. If she wasn't so grateful for being brought back to life she'd probably have asked him what would hurt him and then implemented that very thing.  
  
Ultimately it's the laconic exhaustion that's rolling through her in waves that she blames for what she misses. Waking up alive again was hard enough, waking up curled in the circle of his arms is a challenge she didn't think she'd complete. When she gets back from the marble-floored bathroom, could this house _be_ any more hedonistic, and finds him with a giant tray of traditionally sensual foods and music playing her brain short-circuits just a little more.  
  
"Is that-are you playing Beyonce?"  
  
"Come here sweets." His eyes are heavy, sexy, and for a second she almost does.  
  
"That's Beyonce. 'Halo'. What are you a fifteen year old girl? Turn that shit off."  
  
His head tilts, and then his smirk grows a little. "Opey, give in to my over-whelming charms and _come here._ I want to welcome you back properly."  
  
Instead of going to his nakedness she sits on the edge of the giant bed and rubs absently at her chest. There aren't scars, no marks indicating the whole scenario, but she's sure she can still feel that odd and frightening emptiness. That loss. There's something off, but she can't put her finger on it. Which is when it hits her.  
  
"I have to get back. They're gonna freak if I'm not there. How long have I been out?"  
  
Something flits across his face, more expressive right now than it's ever been, and his hand comes out to her. "That isn't even a blip on your radar right now sweets. You've been through trauma. You're going to relax and let me spoil you."  
  
And _that's_ how she figures out he's hiding something from her. It should have come earlier, immediately really, but she's _tired_.  
  
"Gabriel. How fucking long was I out? I have to get back before Sam and Dean flip the fuck out."  
  
He looks away, and she thinks maybe he's a little angry. "They already know. They found you."  
  
Well that's- _fuck_. She stands and looks around before realizing she's still naked and there are no clothes to gather up. _Oh well_. "Ok. Take me back then, because I gotta-"  
  
"I left Dean to tell Sam. They're gonna have to take care of themselves because I'm-"  
  
"No. No that's not good enough. I need to be there and tell Sam that it's fine. Everything that's going on? He's not gonna take somebody's word for it, so fucking port me back." Gabriel's in her face in seconds, that intense look that she's never sure about prominent on his face. Which is all well and good, but _no_. "I mean it Gabe."  
  
"I'm going to tell you something sweets and it's not to hurt you it's for your own good. This urge you feel right now to rush into danger for Sam? It's programmed. You're _programmed_ to love Sam, to care for him. Remember Vieggi calling you a toy? Well that's what he meant. You're Sam's humanity, but this self-destructive need you have isn't natural and I need you to cut the strings."  
  
She stares at him for a long time, one of his hands pressed softly against her lower back and the other stroking her hair. "What the fuck are you talking about?"  
  
"Everything about you is fabricated and planned Ophelia. From the irony of your name, Heaven setting up that stall with the cursed object, forging the will so you'd end up with your crazy uncle, all of it. You were manipulated and created to do nothing but care about Sam Winchester. Keep him human so Dean would love him enough to follow the plan, and then you were supposed to die to insure Sam would take that last step."  
  
 _The bond cannot be broken-heartless and alone like a toy-_  
  
"And you knew all this?" If there's a waver in her voice she lets it go. Gives herself a pass just this once.  
  
"I knew." His face is-it's not what she's prepared for. Not what she's used to. Gone is the smirk, and in its place is something fierce and yet infinitely tender. "I knew, and I kept it from you. So get mad, but for once recognize what's happening and don't let yourself be played."  
  
For a long time Ope simply studies him. Considers the lines of his face, well-known and loved. She loves him, and she can't fight that or hide it. She remembers all too well his confession when she woke up, and how he almost trembled when he admitted what he'd been doing and why. He doesn't want to kill his brothers, doesn't want to be a part of it, and _she gets that_. As for the rest of it? Being Heaven's toy, being programmed to love Sam, begin nothing more than a sacrificial lamb? Maybe she knew that. Understood on some basic level that nothing about her feelings regarding Sam were normal or healthy, that there were too many coincidences, and she remembers with vivid clarity Bobby giving her that list of potential hunters and her picking Dean despite his last name and the rumors surrounding it. Despite Bobby telling her it was the worst idea ever. She hadn't planned for the rest of it, but she'd been so goddamn sure when she saw the name that this was the one person on the planet she could trust with her little brother.  
  
Now she knows why, and this should be crippling. It should be overwhelming. Instead she's just tired.  
  
"So losing my heart was the last thing they had planned for me?" He nods once and brushes his lips over the corner of hers. "Well then, consider my strings cut and my fucking duty discharged. Now take me back to Sam. Fuck Heaven Gabriel, and fuck the rest of it too. I'm going because I'm going, and if you can't understand that then I'm sorry."

 

\-----

 

 

Dean's got nothing left in the tank. He sits on the plush carpet with the wrecked statue in his hands and stares at the unmarked walls and the room that has righted itself what feels like a hundred times. He's being denied everything, even the cathartic release of destroying the lavish prison around him. His head drops, the world tilts, and when he hears the rustle of wings he doesn't bother to look up. Hears how wrecked he sounds even when he wants to be intimidating and angry.  
  
"Come to tell me it's over? My brother's already kick-started your world ending shindig?"  
  
He waits, expecting Zachariah's smug voice, and instead he gets Castiel. "You must get up. We are leaving now."  
  
When he looks up to see Castiel staring plaintively at him, emotion clear and plain on the angel's face Dean feels his heart skip a beat. Maybe two. "Is it over?"  
  
"It has yet to begin. We are leaving, but we must go _now._ "  
  
And Dean? Dean's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He pushes his way up fast and crosses the room before practically falling through the door behind the angel. What he finds on the other side is a very naked Ope in Bobby's living room looking tired and run down. Gabe is standing behind her with a tight face, and he looks Castiel over for a second before disappearing. The angel jerks once, eyebrows raised, and Ophelia crosses the room and grabs Dean tightly. He lets her hold him, doesn't move, and then she pulls back and looks up at him.  
  
"Do we know where he went? I can't find him."  
  
"No I-"  
  
"I know, but getting there will be difficult. He will be guarded by both sides, they will be expecting us as soon as they realize Dean is gone." The angel's blue eyes look her up and down. "How are you alive?"  
  
"It doesn't matter. I'm putting clothes on, and Dean you're getting weapons. They expect us to come? Then we'll fucking come hard." She's gone then, and Dean doesn't ask questions. There's no time. He digs through Bobby's armory and assembles two bags full of ordinance. Shotguns, salt rounds, anything he thinks will slow any of them down even for a second. He knows that none of it will work on angels, but demons will have some pause if he has anything to say about it. When he looks back up Ophelia is standing there in jeans and a wife-beater, beanie pulled down low to hold back her hair. If they had time he'd hold her longer, soak in the moving of her ribcage and the fact that she's back to life and it's a goddamn miracle. But there isn't.  
  
"You have a plan?"  
  
She grins once, and Dean almost shivers at how blood-thirsty it is. "They're expecting you, and they think I'm off the board. Castiel, can you pop him around?"  
  
The angel tills an eyebrow and nods slowly. "I am assuming you are asking if I am capable of teleportation. Yes I am."  
  
"What about illusions? Can you handle illusions?" The angel nods again and Ophelia's smile turns broad and manic. "Then here's the plan."

 

 

\-----

 

 

Of all the weird shit Dean has experienced over the years there is nothing that can prepare him for slumping down in the backseat of his own car while watching himself drive it. His own grin meets him in the rearview mirror, and he swallows once before pointing. "You be careful with my baby. I know you can be killed now."  
  
It should be too soon for it to be funny, but she laughs anyway and responds in her own voice despite his lips framing it. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now shut up and get ready to be mystified by my awesomeness. Castiel you ready?"  
  
The angel is slumped beside him, trench coat pooled over the backseat as he stares intensely at the window. "As ready as I possibly can be for turning against all of Heaven."  
  
The car is stopped, idling, and Dean can't see over the windowsill to what's waiting for them out there. He hears her fiddling with the radio, and over the sound of stations flying past she grumbles angrily. "This is the perfect time for some Avenged Sevenfold or Rage Against the Machine. Why don't you have a fucking cd player?" Her hand stumbles for a second and Dean hears the opening strains of a song he knows _very_ well.  
  
"Leave it at this." She raises one of his eyebrows in the mirror and Dean can't help the smile. "You could use some culture, and this is perfect for this moment. Trust me sweetheart. Now promise you'll live through this, 'cause Sam'd be pissed if I let you die again so soon."  
  
He watches his own lips quirk up in a smile that is suddenly warm and honest. "I'm not going anywhere soon. Fucking Kansas." But she turns the dial so the music is blaring _.  
  
Carry on my wayward son indeed..._  
  
He watches her roll the window down and lean out. She pulls the upper half of his body out of the window, and sitting on the sill she aims the gun before firing the first shot. There's a howl, unearthly and long, and then the car revs up and Dean's comforted by the roar of the engine before she's skidding forward at top speed. His baby takes a curve, tires gripping the road perfectly and Dean feels the power in the classic automobile even as she jumps a curb and the tires tear through grass. Steve Walsh wailed, and then everything was silence and there were stone tiles under Dean's feet. The hallway is old, almost ancient looking in its long abandonment, and Dean can see huge oaken double doors at the end of it. Through those doors stands his little brother, and a woman in a white dress.  
  
There's no time to think, no time to consider, and Dean simply picks up the pace and runs. He makes it to the end of the hall and through the doors even as the woman turns and holds out a hand. They slam shut behind him, and he's left with Sam and this demon that Castiel has explained to him is the first of her kind and the last of the Seals that have to be broken for Lucifer to be freed. _Lilith_. But he's ready, he's ready for anything.  
  
Except for the sight that greets him. The sight of Sam with his beautiful, up-turned hazel eyes staring wide and disbelieving at Dean. The sight of Sam holding nothing, hands limp at his thighs as he stares in horrified fascination like Dean just came in wearing a spangly dress and a fruit hat while Spanish dancing.  
  
"Dean? What the hell are you doing here?"

 

\----

 

Ophelia told Sam once, well more than once if he's being honest with himself, that he was brilliant. That she always believed in him, but above all that she believed in how smart he was. Sometimes these praises were peppered with expletives, especially when he was fixing something technological that she had been thumping instead of handling calmly, but they were always delivered with the same indefatiguable belief.  
  
He questions every one of her judgments as he stares at Brady in the circle. Brady who brought him into this nightmare, who inducted him into the not quite human club. Brady who spent a year tearing Sam down and molding him until all that was left was fear and hatred. If the road to Hell is paved in good intentions then Brady spent that year handing Sam the mortar so he could lay the bricks and head on down. Despite all of that, despite the fear and the uncertainty, Sam is on his feet. He's standing, and Brady is locked under the Devil's Trap and unable to do anything but stare impotently at his former punching bag. Well, stare and talk, but he's not doing the second one. They're locked there, Brady contemplating eating Sam's bones probably and Sam wondering if he's capable of standing under Brady's gaze _and_ talking.  
  
Which is why Sam jumps when he breaks the silence, his own voice steadier than he ever imagined. "I have questions."  
  
Lips curve, the handsome face crinkling in amusement and blue eyes penetrating. It's not a warm smile, but they never were. "And you think _I'm_ going to answer them Sam? I knew you were addled, but I never thought you braindead."  
  
 _Neither did I_. "You're going to answer them because your answers will decide whether or not I do the thing you spent all that time training me to. So, to begin, who killed Ophelia?"  
  
One blonde eyebrow arches, and there's a dark look that crosses over and leaves Sam's hands shaking. "I wish I knew. I was hoping I would have the honor of gutting the bitch. Or taking you over and using you to do it. Maybe fuck her death. There were-"  
  
"Question two, which side are you on?" He doesn't need to hear Brady's descriptions of murdering her. What was done was bad enough.  
  
Brady crouches down, hands dangling between thighs Sam knows from experience are powerful. Those hands touched him gently once, for a very short time, before they became hard. Fingers swing up to stroke the stubbled jaw and Sam remembers vividly the way Brady used to bite into him. How badly it hurt, and how he was expected-  
  
The tremors are racking him, but Sam stays upright and watches the demon in front of him. "Haven't you figured it out yet Sam? I'm on _my_ side. It's the only side worth being on. Why, are you thinking about coming back to it?"  
  
Sam grips his hands into tight fists so that he can't shake everywhere. He doesn't need them steady, but they anchor his voice enough to focus. "Last question. Why do you want me to kill Lilith?"

 

 

\-----

 

"Yes Dean, what are you doing here? It's not very nice. This was supposed to be a special time between just me and Sam. Now you're _interrupting_." Her voice is petulant. Child-like despite the sensual curves displayed by the white dress. Dean couldn't be further thrown off his game if he tried. This wasn't what he was ready for. He had this whole speech planned out for Sam. He was picturing coming around the corner and finding his brother with black eyes and murder ready. Instead he's looking at his brother. His brother who seems _perfectly fine_ thank you. Sam's face still confused but now honestly frightened.  
  
"I was-I came to-Sam you can't do this. She's the last Seal." He points wildly at the demon and she raises one thin eyebrow before smirking.  
  
"Yes, Sam and I were just discussing that. Once again, you are _interrupting_ and it's _rude_." Which is when Dean finds himself flying backwards, iron candelabra grazing his thigh before he slams into one stone wall and tumbles downwards. There's a bright flash of pain at the impact, and Dean is pretty sure it comes from his head. He hears Sam screaming his name as he pushes his unsteady way up and finds his brother right there holding him up, lifting him. It's the antithesis of his original purpose, but Dean lets his brother support and protect him.  
  
"Dean, you're not supposed to be here. How did you even figure out where I was?" Sam's eyes are a maelstrom of color and emotion and Dean wants to lick his jawline and tell him how pretty they are.  
  
 _Head wound, check_.  
  
"Cas. Rode here with Cas and Ope."  
  
Sam sucks in one sharp breath and the big hands tighten on his shoulders. "Ope? Ope's alive?" Sam sounds so goddamn hopeful, but the chuckle from beyond them drags his brother's attention away.  
  
"This is awful touching, but Sam and I have unfinished business. Or did you want your brother involved?"  
  
"No!" It's harsh, barked and panic-laced, and then Dean finds himself leaning against the stone wall with the room spinning dizzily as Sam lets go of his shoulders and steps forward. "This is between you and me. _Exorcizo te, immundíssime spíritus, omnis incúrsio adversárii, omne phantasma, omnis légio-”_  
  
An exorcism. Sam is doing a goddamn exorcism, the right way, instead of the demon powers way and Dean's dizziness increases as his head swells with pride. Sam didn't come here to break his promise to Ope or make a huge mistake. Sam somehow, someway, knew what was happening and he came here with a way around it. A plan to foil Heaven and Hell. His brother, his brilliant, handsome, awesome little brother was ten steps ahead of-  
  
The room starts shaking, crackling energy filling it, and then there's a clap of thunder and a slim African-American man standing between Sam and Lilith and cutting off his brother's speech with a hand around his throat. Dean launches off the wall without thinking and slams his fist into the guy's jaw before the crumpling pain in his hand informs him he's made a terrible mistake. The jaw in front of him is intact, but Dean's hand is destroyed.

 

 

\-----

 

"Why do I want it? Sam, I want it because it's what's best for you. I always wanted what was best for you." The smirk is a powerful thing, connected to so many other memories that for a second Sam is the scrawny teenager he was when he first met Brady. Tall, gangly, and completely unsure of what he wanted or how to get it. How badly he longed then for love, for approval, and for someone to just once see him for what he was and not what they wanted him to be. Which was, of course, exactly what Brady ended up doing. Still, Sam had thought then that he was going to be free. Going to be-  
  
It doesn't matter. The rest of it doesn't matter, because Sam has figured it out. Yeah, calling Brady might have been a bit of desperation on his part, but Ope was at least a little right. Sam is smart. Smarter than Brady or any of the rest of them ever gave him credit for.  
  
"Bobby's house is warded to the nines against demons, and you didn't know until I told you that Ope was dead. Which means no one on your side did it. Heaven killed my sister." Brady's face takes on a carefully controlled boredom that Sam can see through. Violence crackles around the edges of it. "You teaching me all of it, the powers and the blood-drinking, it was all a lead up to this. Meg wanted me to use them because she wants the same thing you want. To get Lucifer out and the Apocalypse started. Which means feeding me that bullshit about Lilith was a ploy. We're out of Seals aren't we?"  
  
Brady's boredom goes by the wayside, cunning in every line of that handsome, classic, All-American face. "You're thinking too much Sam. _Way_ too much. I suggest you just dial it back a little and be a good boy. Didn't you call me here to drain me so you could save your brother from our fearless leader?"  
  
And yeah, that had been on the table. It had been a possibility. Except there was no way a demon walked into Bobby's house and killed Ophelia. No way that all of it was coincidence, that her death came at just the right time to remind him of Meg's warning, that calling Brady was this easy, and that Sam was being brought back into the fold all at the same time. Too many coincidences, too many outlandish possibilities for it to be anything other than a grand design.  
  
Which is why Sam made sure that he could do this the right way. Because despite the image burned into the back of his eyelids of Ophelia lying too still and so small, despite the memory of his promise to keep her safe, Dean's voice has been controlling his decisions this whole time. Dean telling him it would all be ok.  
  
So Sam digs in his brain for the memory of the exorcism Ope gave him, and Brady's screams are more restorative than he ever imagined anything could be.

 

 

\----

 

 

It moves fast, so fast, and Dean can't follow all of it. The guy, _angel gotta be an angel_ , has one of those freaky fucking knives they like and he moves forward and plunges it right in. Lilith never moves, never fights, and then she's dead. The blood pools, shapes itself, and Dean reaches for Sam. Reaches and finds his brother's coat before hauling him close and and shielding him. Then there's light, so bright and painful he can't stand it, and then they're on a plane. Dean's hand is screaming, his head is spinning, and now he's fucking terrified because they're in a goddamn plane. But they're _alive_ , and that's gotta count for something.  
  
Right?  
  
Except when they land in Tacoma, Washington they're greeted by a dire looking Castiel and a bruised Ophelia. Sam studies each and every mark on her face, looks her over in the airport for what is an uncomfortably long time, and she holds perfectly still while he does it. Then his little brother swings her up into his arms and carries her out of the building like she's a babydoll made of glass. The Impala is parked in the fire zone, and Dean can't help the sound of distress that escapes him when he sees the long and deep gash through the passenger side. It hurts more than the hand Cas has just finished reconstructing. Castiel waves off the police officer writing them a ticket, and then takes the backseat as Sam claims his spot with Ophelia in his lap. They don't talk, she doesn't try joking and Sam doesn't try speaking.  
  
And Dean will never, ever, mock Sam for how long his little brother cries into her brightly colored hair, or how her fingers twist in his shirt as she cries too.  
  
Instead they cross the country together without discussing anything, and when they land on the other side of America in Ophelia's front yard Dean's not surprised to see that someone has replaced all her windows and taken down the plywood. He has his suspicions, but he doesn't voice them. Instead Dean gets through the door, gently disengages Sam's hand from Ophelia's and then takes him back through the house without a word.  
  
It takes five minutes for Dean to end up naked, his own fingers buried in his ass as Sam licks his way around them. His brother, his magically talented goddamn brother, managed to do that and find the free brain cells to use his hands to stroke every inch of Dean, find every vulnerable and erogenous spot, before surging up and sliding home. Split open and vulnerable, hands fisting the sheets, Dean managed to finally break the silence. "Love you."  
  
It was all he could think to say, and all he could manage to give, and Sam's harsh breathing in his ear echoed the sentiment even as Sam's hips slammed into Dean's ass and his hands gripped Dean's shoulders.  
  
Afterwards they lay there, panting and sweaty and marked with bruises and bites and semen. It doesn't matter though because Dean's got his brother. Dean's got Sam, and yeah, sure, the Apocalypse just started but Sam didn't start it. They made it through the horrible ending, dodged Destiny, and now they're going to finish this their way. _Fuck the plan_. Dean's always been a big believer in writing his own story.  
  
The group of them sit down and share everything, and while Dean's not sure Ope's totally honest he knows when she says Gabriel is _the_ Gabriel that she's telling the truth. Which is why he doesn't include her in the plan to call the archangel down and ask for help. Waits for her to fall asleep before he shares a look with Cas and Sam. They work with Castiel and some sort of magic fucking oil, set up the circle in the downstairs portion of the workshop, and then call the creature he's almost started to consider a friend.  
  
And they make their plea.

 

 

\----

 

 

Gabriel knows the very second she enters the room. Feels her standing there at the edge of the space simply looking at him. The pressure is on, and he's never liked pressure. Has spent thousands of years avoiding it really.  
  
"No. I'm not into groups or teams or decoder rings. I'm Switzerland." Dean's face cramps in disbelief, Sam's in agony directed at the young woman standing behind him. The one whose faith he has certainly shattered. So much for loving him. It doesn't matter though. Her lifetime is a grain of sand, a speck of dust, and it's all going to slide past him like everything else always has. No matter at all. Except for what he's already done, and what he can't take back.  
  
"Brother, _please_ , help us." Castiel's eyes are almost pleading. He's certainly spent too much time down here. There's no redeeming him now. Gabriel should know. He still hasn't turned, and Ophelia still hasn't come into his sight line.  
  
"No. I won't be a part of it. I won't kill any more of our brothers, and you don't have the right to ask it of me."  
  
He hears the sizzle of flames being put out, and that makes him turn. She's got a jug of water in her hands and they're completely still and stable as she looks at the hole she's created in their ring of holy oil fire. Ophelia has freed him. Dean makes a sound but Sam holds him back and silent. Gabriel knows it without turning around, because he only has eyes for the woman in front of him. She looks just as pretty and dire as she did the first time he saw her. Gabriel's seen a lot of pretty women, but there's something specific about this one, and if he still believed Dad had a plan for him he'd think that was significant. She puts the jug down and then walks through the opening and lays a hand against the side of his face. She's smiling. _It's awful_.  
  
"Ok. Calm down Gabe. It's ok."  
  
He wants to ask her if she still loves him, but he doesn't. It's right there on her face. It'd be easier if she looked angry. He's used to her angry.  
  
"Come with me. They kill you again and I won't be back Ophelia. I can't. It was a one time deal."  
  
Her eyes soften, that shade of blue after the sun has just broken over the horizon. An eternity of summer days that Gabriel has spent in leisure and hedonism. Her fingers stroke the line of his vessel's cheek, down the jaw, and over his lips. She goes up on her toes to kiss him, and she tastes like cigarettes and whiskey. She tastes like life. She won't forever though. He knows that. Ophelia is a candle flickering her way out.  
  
"No. I understand, but no. I love you. Always will. You're a good guy Gabe, but you're a coward and I knew that. It's ok. I love you anyway." Her words are bitter but her tone is loving and sweet. It's an utterly human thing. "My place is here. Fighting with Sam and Dean. I'll miss you." And that's it. She lets him go and walks back through the opening, around the ring of fire, and links her arm into Sam's. Dean's hand lands on her shoulder and Gabriel hates him more than he ever has before.  
  
"So tuck your tail between-" He takes off before Winchester can get the last word. Before she looks at him that way anymore.  
  
That night, lying under the stars in Dubai on a beach and eating from a chocolate fountain he feels her lips press against the little statue he put his Grace in. Hears her words and thinks again how very mortal they are. _"Be safe Gabriel. Love you."_ It's not Ope. Not his foul-mouthed little pervert. It's tender and soft. It makes him ache, and hate them all the more.

 

 

 

\----

 

 

They're sitting around the table silently, studying each other without speaking. The vessels for the Apocalypse's two biggest players, the fallen (falling?) angel, and Heaven's (former?) puppet. Ope's willing to admit she's probably a _little_ stoned. Dean breaks the silence, voice gravelly and thick.  
  
"So what do we do now?"  
  
She thinks of a thousand possibilities that end with 'and then we run away', but none of them are feasible.  
  
"We fight." It's Sam, eyes shining with that light that always reminds her why she loves him. "We fight and we win. It's our only option."  
  
And that? That's all they've got.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that is the end of "Lost Time". I want to take a moment to thank you for reading this. I never thought I'd write anything this long, and I certainly never thought anyone would want to read it if I did. It's been...an experience. A really good one. That's why, from the bottom of my heart, I'm so grateful to everybody who read it and enjoyed it. You guys rock a lot. The untitled sequel is being worked on, and my brilliant and amazing Beta sammichgirl has already improved the first three timestamp/prequel pieces and now has the last of them and the first chapter. They'll be strictly historical character profiles for each of the people who had a voice here in "Lost Time" It will be a little slower going than this (since it's not already done), but I've got enough of an outline I'm not afraid of the muse abandoning me. I want to thank Sammich again for insisting I publish this. I wouldn't have done it without you bb. Also, thank you for teaching me what bb means. I was really confused for a while. :D


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